


Open Your Eyes

by corneroffandom



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-06 07:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11595495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corneroffandom/pseuds/corneroffandom
Summary: After Ricardo admits his deepest secret, Alberto's life changes drastically.





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm in love with you."

The words come easily, the results follow slowly. Alberto Del Rio stops abruptly and Ricardo Rodriguez follows suit a few steps behind him, his sock-covered toes pressing against the cool tile floor. He had lost both of his shoes ten minutes earlier during Smackdown, when Alberto had won against Orton and then turned his attention to Sheamus, Ricardo giving him his shoe to try to placate the anger visible in his eyes just for him to roughly push Ricardo to the mat to take his other shoe as a weapon a few moments later. Where exactly they had gone after all of that, he's unsure- his shoe budget was becoming ridiculous at this rate. But he's tired and he's a little sore, beyond caring at the moment. He barely flinches when the destined one turns slowly and looks at him, an indecipherable look in his dark eyes.

"What did you just say?"

He keeps his eyes level with Alberto's, well aware that his employer scoffs at and ignores him whenever he tries to say something but is unable to look him in the eye when doing so. "I'm in love with you." Again, they flow like water, pure truth always simple to say, even if it hurts. Time ticks by, feeling like hours has passed, Ricardo holding his breath as they stare at each other, Del Rio's face painfully blank. Finally he turns on his heel and continues walking, as if nothing had just been said to him, as if Ricardo's world hadn't just fallen away under his feet. He pauses for long moments, unsure what to do, if he should follow or...

"Are you coming or not?" Alberto's impatient voice snaps back at him and he swallows, quickly rushing to follow him out to the parking lot. They leave the arena, Ricardo having to remind himself to breathe steadily as he tries desperately not to fumble or mess up anything else that Alberto requires of him the rest of the weekend- the longest days of Ricardo's life as the two men only speak when absolutely necessary, barely acknowledging each other outside of the house shows they had been required to make appearances at.

As much as he hates the tense silence, it is better than Alberto continuing to verbally or- much more rarely- physically attacking him. On reflection, he's not sure why he'd said it _then_ , when he knew Alberto was so angry- perhaps was hoping it would somehow make things _easier-_ but, as sad as it makes him, he is unsurprised, had even expected this sort of response or something much worse.

That Monday, the Mexican aristocrat is placed in a tag match with Dolph Ziggler (to Ricardo's relief, he's alone at ringside, Vickie Guerrero still backstage refusing to show her face after what transpired with Brodus Clay and the Funkadactyls earlier in the show) but their team loses when Ricardo tries to assist Dolph to victory by tossing the briefcase into him, the amount of time that it takes the Show Off to grab the weapon just enough for Sheamus to hit a brogue kick and the pin. He flushes, worried about what Alberto will say or do to him for inadvertently costing his team the victory but when he hesitantly joins him, the older man only glances over at him briefly, that blank expression back on his face, before waving off the aftermath of the match behind him, acting like it's of little consequence to him as he walks back up the ramp.

Ricardo releases a soft breath later on as he sinks into bed, Del Rio already fast asleep on the other side of the room. The silence between them was moving from tense and sad to plainly annoying, Ricardo sick of having nothing to distract him from his own, jumbled thoughts. He stares at his employer's back, shaking his head. _I know I shouldn't have said anything... at least then..._ His hands bunching into fists against the sheets, he sighs. _At least then he'd talk to me... look at me..._

The silence, amazingly, is shattered early the next morning, Alberto seeming almost reluctant when he comes out of the bathroom, finding Ricardo organizing their duffels. "Are you ready to go?" he asks blandly, Ricardo's face jerking up in shock at the sound of his voice.

"Eh, eh," he stammers for a moment, fingers pausing on a pile of Alberto's clothing. "Si, si, yes," he finally comes back into control of himself, zipping both bags up after a quick scan of the room. Finding nothing left behind, he stands and dusts his hands off, gripping the handles and lifting them.

"Good," he mumbles. "Come, then." They are returning to Florida, spending a few days there before having to travel out to the week's Smackdown. Ricardo isn't sure how to feel about this, not even having the distractions of life on the road to keep them busy, away from dwelling on what he'd said the previous Friday.

Unlike during the long hours of driving from the past few days when it had been Ricardo virtually alone behind the wheel, Alberto stays awake the whole flight. He doesn't say a lot, his attention mostly directed out of the window to the brilliant blue sky outside, but it's a little better than how obviously he had been avoiding Ricardo previously. They even get into a short conversation about a couple of the peasants Del Rio had seen in the airport stuck back in coach, Ricardo's eyes gleaming when Alberto laughs at something he says about their woeful appearance. He had missed all of this- their shared disdain for the general population, Alberto's voice, his laugh.

As they disembark the plane, he can't help but hope that it'll be the return to normalcy he's craved for much too long now... but he doesn't see much of Alberto the rest of the day, busy wandering around his Florida home's land, making sure nothing has been damaged or lost in their absence. He himself has always painstakingly pored over Alberto's staff to ensure they are all dependable and above board but anything can happen, and he knows that Del Rio appreciates the second look around just to make sure.

It is a nice day anyway, the Florida weather warm but not muggy, a gentle breeze ruffling through his ungelled hair. As he takes in the spacious grounds, dotted by buildings here and there full of the few cars that Alberto keeps here for his general use (not to be confused with the various cars just for his various entrances, no, those were more toys of his, rarely to be used but to be looked at from afar, kept mainly in Mexico.), he feels more relaxed than he has in a long time. This, he can do easily, confidentially. Not expect any kind of repercussions or sneering from Alberto, or being outright ignored. He passes by the gardener and nods at the man, only pausing long enough to ask about the status of things, if he had seen anything out of the ordinary. Upon receiving a satisfactory negative answer, he continues on his way.

It takes a couple of hours to walk the grounds and by the time he's back within view of the house, the sun has started to sink behind the house, casting a reddish purple glow over everything. It is nearing fall and even Florida isn't exempt from the seasonal change, the evenings growing just a little more brisk and cooler with each passing day, the nearby ocean adding to sudden temperature fluctuations. He stuffs his hands into his slacks pockets as he nears the patio, eyes cast on the grass getting crushed beneath his shoes. He's about to walk past, to the back door, when a throat is cleared to his right. He jerks, looking up, and gapes as he realizes that Alberto had been sitting at the pristine, white table set up out there, a glass of wine in hand. "El Patron, lo siento," he manages after a long moment, his face warming with mortification as he realizes he'd almost walked right by his employer as if he wasn't there. "I did not realize you were out here."

Alberto makes a noncommittal hmmming noise before waving a hand at him. "Join me, Ricardo. It is beautiful out here tonight, si?"

Suddenly cold and pale, Ricardo swallows and gingerly makes his way back up to the white furniture, hoping that he will not ruin anything. He had, after all, been walking for quite a long while, trying discreetly to check himself for grass stains or anything else as he nears the as-ever impeccable Destined One. "Is there something you need, El Patron?" he asks anxiously, standing at attention next to the table as he waits.

Alberto frowns at him, tilting his head. "Sit, Ricardo."

The ring announcer gulps, fearing the worst as he claims the chair across from the older Mexican, anxiously twisting his hands together while Alberto sips from his wine, dark eyes locked on the horizon. Ricardo feels more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute, his eyes shifting from Alberto to their surroundings. He bites his lip, not wanting to antagonize him and risk ruining the moment, by asking again if he needs anything. His main worry is that Alberto will abruptly bring up his faux pas from the past weekend after ignoring it, ignoring him for days.

 _He's had time to think,_ Ricardo muses, his eyes resting now on the table top as he tries to keep his breathing steady, not reveal just how sick he's feeling. _What can I do if he decides I'm a liability and fires me?_

"What is the schedule for the next few days, Ricardo?" he finally asks, leaning back against the chair and looking every part the man of leisure.

Blinking, the ring announcer clears his throat awkwardly and tries to focus. "Eh, nothing tomorrow or Thursday, El Patron, but there are radio interviews on Friday. I will get you the information shortly."

"Gracias," he says simply, closing his eyes as he trails a finger along the rim of his glass. They sit in silence for awhile longer, enjoying the gentle Florida weather as everything darkens around them, Ricardo hazarding a few glances over at Del Rio, just taking in the calm, peaceful look on his face. He's a much different man when he's at home, away from competition and other aggravations. He wishes he- they- could remain like this forever.

The next day is spent on errands and organizing, restocking some necessities around the house and the few perishable groceries that Del Rio will require the next couple of days, and scheduling the next round of flights and shipment of selected cars from Mexico. Yet again he barely sees Alberto except for briefly in the morning to hear what he needs done today, but that's ok. The night before had ended well enough that he doesn't want to push it, risk encouraging a renewal of the tension that had been surrounding them when they were on the road. By the time he returns to the house, it's almost ten PM and he smiles at the patiently waiting Sofia who greets him at the door, whispering, "Is El Patron in bed?"

She nods. " _Si_ , he is asleep, senor. I am heading there myself shortly."

He nods, resting a hand on her arm and gently leading her out of the room. "Go on ahead, I will lock the house up."

She hesitates, slowing them down as she tries to turn back around, dark eyes wide. "Are you sure, senor? I-"

"Si, I'm sure," he whispers as they go further into the house, not wanting to risk disturbing Alberto. "Get some sleep. I am not that tired."

She only stalls a moment longer, peering up at him, before she sighs and pulls away. "Si, very well then. Gracias. Buenas Noches."

"Buenas Noches," he says to her back as she walks quietly down the hall to her own room. Once she's gone, he turns back to the living room and wanders around, inanely checking the front door's locks, the back door's lock, and even trailing through a few rooms, making sure the windows too are locked. He feels jittery, uncomfortable.

The house is silent around him, he is alone, and the only company he has is his thoughts. Once he's sure the house is locked down, he sits down at the kitchen table and scrubs at his face, trying to calm down. He had been busy or surrounded by people nonstop since _that_ night so he hadn't really had a lot of chances to think about what he had done, what had been said. And not said. He groans faintly, pressing his thumbs against his nose. He had never felt worse than that moment back at the arena, shoeless and watching Alberto walk away from him without acknowledging his feelings, but this moment is pretty bad as well... knowing that Del Rio had moved past it all like it had been nothing.

Resting his chin in his hands, he pulls his phone out and peers at it blankly for a bit before accessing his Twitter via mobile web. Finding nothing important on his timeline, he stares at the wall opposite of him, so many thoughts and feelings welling up within him that he'd give anything just to vent to someone, anyone. Unable to say what he wants to the most, under a microscope like all of the other WWE talent, he settles for simply tweeting _'always waiting'._ That small tweet only makes it worse, somehow, his feelings growing more despondent as he sits there, staring at it. Finally giving up on sitting in the dark, alone, he ventures to his room.

He wakes up early on Friday, staring at the ceiling for a little bit. His melancholy hadn't passed, only fading a very little bit the day before. Alberto has the radio interview and then they have to fly out to Smackdown so thankfully he has no time to dwell on these things. He takes a deep breath, pulling himself reluctantly from his warm bedding before going to get himself together for the day.

He can hear Alberto's voice from his bedroom as he walks by, aware that the Mexican Aristocrat is handling the radio interview over the phone before their flight in a couple of hours, and pauses outside to listen. Sometimes he just likes to listen to Alberto speak, even if his English is a little faulty sometimes. It relaxes him, sooths his nerves to hear the confidence bleeding through his words.

But all comfort he could possibly gain from this fades quickly away as, after awhile, Alberto speaks up once more, the interviewer obviously finishing with yet another question. "Eh," Del Rio laughs, sounding a little derisive, almost bored. "Of course, it is inevitable that Ricardo Rodriguez and my working together will come to an end. Don't they all, eventually?"

It's like a bucket of ice water splashed across his body, freezing his mind, his heart, his soul. The fact that Alberto could speak so cavalierly about the conclusion of his being under Alberto's employ... He feels ill. Unable to stand there and listen any longer, he stumbles away and returns to his bedroom, sitting there in the half-light for he's not sure how long, watching how the sunbeams drift across the floor from the slats of his drawn blinds. He's still in that position when Alberto comes to find him, ready to leave for the airport to head to Smackdown.

"Si of course, El Patron," he says faintly, trying to act normal as he collects their things and follows the Mexican aristocrat to the car. As soon as they're safely through security and on the plane, Alberto settled in his seat and waiting for Ricardo to finish sorting their carry on bags, he sneaks his phone out and sends a quick tweet: _C'est la vie._

That night, his turmoil only continues, heightened even further when Alberto is placed in a match against Kane. Ricardo watches for as long as he can, trying not to cause him the match, but it's too much, Kane is gaining the advantage rapidly, and the last thing Ricardo wants to see is Del Rio chokeslammed or worse. He finds an opening and jumps up onto the apron, successfully distracting the referee _and_ Kane. He concedes when the referee warns him and jumps back down, smirking at the audience, when he feels gloved fingers in his hair, his heart stopping as he's roughly tugged back up to the apron in one rough pull. His struggles aren't enough, Kane has him by the throat, he's going to be chokeslammed off of the-

But then Alberto is there, Alberto has Kane, and Alberto hits a devastating backcracker on the much taller monster, leveling him long enough for the three count. Ricardo watches from where he'd fallen back to the floor, trying to smooth his hair down and rub the lingering soreness from his throat. It's an amused Alberto, laughing from the top of the ramp as Kane struggles to his feet, that Ricardo finds himself next to, something about the sound of his true joy easing some of the unending pain from his own soul. Before he's even aware of what he's doing, he curls his hand around Alberto's neck, pulling him in to a brief hug and resting his chin on top of his head. On national TV.

To his amazement, Alberto does not push him away or yell at him for the random bit of affection. Then again, he doesn't mention it at all afterwards, and Ricardo can't help but wonder if maybe, still riding his high from defeating the Big Red Monster, he hadn't even noticed his touch.

By Monday, Ricardo feels a little more like his old self, relieved to see things between him and Alberto finding a more even keel. He still can't get the mortifying memories of the past few weeks out of his head, but he knows he has no real choice but to take it a day at a time. _El Patron is right, I suppose. Our allegiance could end at any time, but I cannot focus on that. I need to continue doing my job to the best of my ability so he's less inclined_ to _fire me._ Swallowing, he returns his focus back to whispering strategy in the Mexican aristocrat's ear as they watch Sheamus compete against Jack Swagger, Del Rio tense like he's waiting for something.

Finally the match concludes, Sheamus of course coming out the victor, and Alberto pushes Ricardo towards the ring, pulling his own headset off as they go. Ricardo leaps up on the apron, distracting Sheamus as Alberto takes the other side, but Sheamus spots him and hits him hard, Ricardo trying and failing once more to give Alberto the space he needs to mount an attack, getting smacked back through the ring ropes and leaving Alberto vulnerable to a bone rattling White Noise. Del Rio is off-balanced and unable to defend as Sheamus prepares to hit the dreaded Brogue Kick, Ricardo watching on with horror deep in his bones. _El Patron cannot get injured again, not this close to his next title opportunity... No. What do I do, what do I do._ Gnawing his lip, he waits and he hopes that Alberto will be able to distance himself from Sheamus' attack, but as soon as he's up and wavering around unsteadily, the ring announcer knows. _I have to stop this._ Through the ropes once more and, unfortunately timed that just as Ricardo pushes his employer out of the way, Sheamus has struck out with the Brogue Kick and hits the ring announcer dead on in the face, causing him to spin and drop front first against the mat.

Everything goes dark. He can hear activity around him, his eyes heavy and everything muffled. He thinks he should worry about his own incapability of moving or doing anything, but warm hands are on his neck and face and that's all that matters right now. _Hopefully El Patron is alright,_ he thinks, then wonders why that should matter. _Brogue Kick,_ his memories kindly remind him, his body tensing as he remembers what had led to here, _now,_ with him unconscious and unable to move. He claws his way back towards the noises around him, focusing on those hands, and finally breaks through, his eyes wearily fluttering open.

Alberto is leaning over him, trainers and others trying to revive him, but he ignores them, feeling separated from his body even as he struggles to move his hand, finally somehow getting ahold of Alberto's arm and clinging to it, the fact that he's now touching Alberto and being touched by him grounding him better than anything else could. _He looks so worried,_ he thinks vacantly. _Why does he look so worried..._ He can't bring himself to mind too much however, finding it less energy consuming to just feel relief that his El Patron is by his side, healthy and whole.

He's transported to the trainers quickly after that, Alberto by his side every step of the way, his hand on his arm a constant presence even when he fades back into unconsciousness.

Del Rio paces, shaking his head. Listens vaguely to David Otunga, who had slipped into the trainer's office shortly after Ricardo had been brought in, the trainer busy examining his neck and spine to sort out the level of damage he'd taken from the Brogue Kick. Tries to figure it out in his head, the sequence of events, if he could've done anything differently so neither he or Ricardo would end up here. Nothing comes to him, however, and he shudders, unable to get the vision of Ricardo struggling just to touch his arm earlier out of his mind. "I can't..." He pushes past Otunga to the door, leaving the room quickly. He feels nauseous, shaky.

He unfortunately can't even find a moment's peace to try to sort his jumbled thoughts out there, a camera and microphone thrust in his face as one of the annoying announcers starts asking him rapid questions about Ricardo's condition. He shakes his head, unable to keep the distraught look from his face, only relieved when Otunga follows him out and shoos off the man, telling him that his client won't be answering any questions at this time. Alberto turns sharply back towards the room and reenters, finding Ricardo's eyes open a slit as the trainer tries to ask him question, test his awareness.

"Move, perro," he orders the man roughly, stepping up to Ricardo's side. The ring announcer's eyes open a little more as he realizes who's by his side and Alberto frowns down at him, his hands hovering over him while he tries to figure out where to touch that won't add to his agony. "Ricardo," he whispers, lips twitching as he blinks up at him. "Why did you... Why..."

Through a gasp, he mumbles, "El Patron... didn't want to see you hurt..." His eyes flutter a few more times as Alberto stares down at him, troubled. "... or risk losing your title opportunity..."

"Titles mean nothing if you get seriously injured, mi amigo," Alberto murmurs back, feeling as surprised as Ricardo looks at these words, at how deeply he finds that he means them. He shakes his head, not sure what to think of all of this. "Ricardo... just rest, si? You need it." He finally rests his hand on the other man's chest, feeling as he breathes in and out, his heart beating beneath his fingers, and takes some comfort in the regularity of it all. There had been a brief moment in the ring when the younger man hadn't moved, his horribly blank eyes open and staring through Del Rio, that had shattered his soul, the Mexican aristocrat fearing the worst. "You will be fine. I will make sure of it, no matter what it takes."

To his annoyance, Ricardo is taken to the hospital for further examination while he is stuck at Raw to conclude his match with Cena in the main event, and even though it is a street fight and his body begins stinging within the first five minutes due to the various weapons they are using and anything nearby to further injure each other, he can barely focus enough to continue chaining together offense. Every time he closes his eyes, he can only see his poor ring announcer asleep on the stretcher as they directed him down to the ambulance, Alberto having no choice but to let him go, watch from the parking lot as Otunga slips into the back of the van after promising to keep a close eye on the young man's condition, call Alberto if anything happens... make sure he gets the best care possible until he can arrive.

Despite Otunga being suspiciously helpful the past hour- of course, the lawyer would come running at the first whiff of a possible lawsuit-, he hopes that Ricardo stays asleep until he gets there, not wanting him to awaken to a strange place surrounded by unfamiliar people. His body is throbbing viciously after Cena hits him with an Attitude Adjustment in the hallway not far from the trainer's office, and Del Rio thinks it's over until a car pulls up and Punk arrives, GTSing Cena against the hood of said car. He feels himself being lifted and strewn carelessly across Cena's prone body, achieving the three count.

He barely cares about the win, distantly acknowledging it as the referee lifts his hand in success, before he stumbles away towards the trainer's office, where his things and Ricardo's had been abandoned. He collects them as hurriedly as he can before running for where his car had been left after the evening's horrible sequence of events. Dropping everything in the backseat, not even bothering to carefully put them in the trunk as Ricardo usually does, he peels out and turns straight to the hospital one of the EMTs had directed him to earlier. _I'm on my way, Ricardo. Hold on._

After just keeping under the speed limit only because he knows that getting busted by police and having to smooth talk his way out of a speeding ticket would only mean it'd take _that_ much longer to get to the hospital, he is somewhere between relieved and annoyed to see Otunga by the nurse's desk, seemingly charming the women behind the desk. His hands curling into fists, Alberto rounds on him, eyes squinting in anger. "Otunga, what are you doing out here? You left Ricardo alone?"

He barely blinks an eye, turning to Del Rio with a slight grimace. "I was talking to this very helpful nurse here to ensure that you'd be allowed in to see Ricardo as soon as you arrived. He's still sleeping so I figured taking a moment to make sure that there'd be no delay wouldn't hurt."

Alberto stares at him distrustingly for a moment, before looking at the nurse. "Where is he?" She glances from man to man before slipping from behind the desk and leading them quietly through the halls, finally stopping towards the end of the main corridor. Alberto ignores as she starts to speak, brushing past her and into the room. His tense shoulders relax slightly as he catches sight of his friend, laid out across the hospital bed, breathing softly as he sleeps on. _Good,_ he thinks inanely, quietly moving closer to the bed. _At least he doesn't seem to be in pain or scared. Like before._ He shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of the memory from the middle of the ring of Ricardo staring up at him in dazed fright, while sitting down next to him. "I'm here, amigo. Lo siento, it shouldn't have taken this long... but I won my match against that perro, Cena." Even that feels cheap now, his laughter derisive and grating as he rests a hand on Ricardo's arm. "Not that it matters, not now."

He sits there for long moments, watching the monitors keeping track of his heart rate and oxygen levels, blood pressure, a slew of other numbers that Alberto isn't sure of the meaning. There's so much he wants to say, so many conflicted thoughts scattered around his mind, that he isn't sure where to start. Rubbing faint circles along Ricardo's skin, he opts to remain quiet and sits back, eyes narrowing as he peers at the younger man who had sacrificed so much for him the last few years, and just kept on doing it more and more. "Thank you," he finally whispers, shaking his head when he realizes just how many times he should've said so and hadn't.

He doesn't sleep much that night, watching the nurses go back and forth, the subtle changes in Ricardo's vitals, the sun rising in the east as night gives way to yet another day. He hopes that this one will be a much better one for both of them. Gets a good look at his ring announcer's pale, pain-tightened face in natural light and doubts it is possible. "I'm so sorry," he tells the still sleeping man, rubbing at his gritty eyes.

Feeling jittery and like if he doesn't get up and do something he may explode- physically or in anger, he's not sure- he gives up on the bedside vigil briefly and wanders out into the hallway. Spotting one of the nurses who'd been in now and again the last few hours, he tries to smile charmingly at her but thinks he barely manages a grimace, too tired to fully function with his normal suaveness. "Excuse me," he says, accent so thick that even he can barely understand himself. He flushes slightly and clears his throat before continuing, relieved when the nurse waits patiently for him to continue, understanding shining in her eyes. "Ricardo... when will he be released?"

She makes a small face, wincing. "Well, the doctor has scheduled him for a number of tests today. He also wants to keep a close eye on his neck. It may be a few days. We aren't sure, it depends on what the tests show." Adjusting the files in her hands, she smiles at him compassionately. "You may want to go get some rest, he'll be in and out for most of the day thanks to the medicine we have him on. And you look pretty worn out."

"I don't want to leave him alone," Del Rio refuses immediately, the very prospect seeming unfathomable to him. Not after everything Ricardo had gone through for him, not now. "If he awakens and I am not here..."

"It's your choice," she tells him quietly, shuffling some files around as she prepares to continue along her way. "You'll be more help to him if you're rested, or at least have a somewhat proper meal."

He rolls his eyes, ignoring her as he peers once more inside of the hospital room, taking a breath as Ricardo sleeps on. The very thought of leaving makes him feel horrible but sleep does sound very welcoming right now. He grimaces and ventures into the room once more, easing down on the chair next to Ricardo's bed, watching him through gritty eyes. He's not sure when exactly his eyes slip shut, or when his chin rests on his chest, sleep fully claiming him but he does know when he wakes up, the room once more half-lit as drapes block the now mid-afternoon sun from disturbing either of their rest... _Ricardo!_ His eyes lift and he blinks a few times, finding his ring announcer staring at him through half-opened eyes. He sits forward, smiling slightly. "Ricardo?"

He stares back, fear still filling his vision and Del Rio winces, resting a hand on his upper arm, trying to look comforting as he leans closer, about to say something else. "El- El Patron," he breathes out, eyes fluttering shut before he reopens them, now looking a little more secure as they stare at each other, Alberto surprised and happy to hear his voice, however low and pain-filled it is.

He smiles, resting a hand on Ricardo's upper arm. "Si. Take it easy, eh? It's good to see you awake once more."

It doesn't last long, just enough for a nurse to come in and see him, and then Ricardo's dark eyes close once more, his arm trembling beneath Del Rio's fingers even as she feeds more pain killer into his IV. "We'll be taking him in for tests on his neck soon," she tells him softly, taking in how his eyes flicker uncertainly to the younger man. "He'll probably sleep through them though. Try not to worry."

He nods briskly and waits, watches, as the younger man sleeps for awhile, looking peaceful despite the overwhelming neck brace still snug around his throat. The interns and nurses come almost half an hour later and take him away, bed and all, for their tests and leave Del Rio behind to pace and mumble to himself, thinking about the last twenty-four hours with no lack of regret and exhaustion.

When they return, Ricardo is semi-conscious, his eyes open just enough to glint in the subtle lamplight. Once they settle him back in, and replace all of the wires and tubes monitoring his vitals and keeping him hydrated while he rests, he slips back under again and Del Rio sighs, a little disappointed. He knows the rest is good for him, but the more he remains asleep, the more Alberto has time to do nothing but think. Worry. He shakes his head and lounges back in the large chair, resting his face in his hand as he watches Ricardo sleep. Soon enough, he dozes off again as well.

The next morning, he has a call waiting for him by Otunga and, as much as he hates it, he has to at least meet with the lawyer and ensure that legal procedures are moving along steadily. Which means he has to leave the hospital for the first time since he'd arrived after Raw. He hovers by the bed, a grimace on his lips. "I'll be back soon," he promises, turning sharply on his heel before walking out of the door.

The meeting with Otunga seems to drag on forever, even though in all actuality, it only lasts a little over an hour, David painstakingly going over what statutes he'd found overnight, and what he'd gathered from Booker T's camp, which really isn't much. The General Manager continues to be aggravatingly mum about it all, opting instead to address the matter on television this Friday. Unsurprised but yet disgusted, Alberto nods grimly and shakes his hand before leaving, his whole body thrumming to be back by Ricardo's side, make sure his recovery is moving along steadily.

He wants him by his side, doesn't want to have to leave town to head to the next event while the ring announcer is stuck in this strange hospital, but he's not quite sure if he can avoid it as time slips through his fingers at an annoying speed. The doctors and nurses both are still being very quiet about _when_ Ricardo will be released, just that it would happen as soon as they were satisfied with his tests and secure in the diagnosis they provide him before letting him venture back out into the world. It is already nearly mid-Wednesday now and he'll need to leave late Thursday or early Friday, depending on the previously mentioned factors.

These thoughts quickly become irrelevant when he arrives at the hospital and finds a commotion happening down the hall. His eyes widen when he realizes that it's not just _some_ commotion, it's happening _in_ Ricardo's room. He rushes past all of the people wandering around the hallway, ignoring their sharp calls out towards him. He freezes as he spots his ring announcer, struggling against and appearing deaf and blind to the people trying to comfort him, an orderly rushing over with a needle of clear liquid. "Stop that!" he snaps at the hospital staff surrounding the younger man's bed, forcing his way over to his ring announcer and wrapping a protective arm around him as he stares daringly at the orderly with the drugs. "Back off," he snarls, just barely tamping down on his temper before he insults these people in Spanish, realizing with a grimace that, yes, they're just trying to help Ricardo, no matter how angry their techniques had made him.

At a nurse's nod, the orderly does as Alberto commands and they all watch as Ricardo tangles his fingers in Alberto's shirt collar, breathing heavy and a little shaky. "Where were you? I- I thought- something happened," he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut and not seeing as Del Rio's face softens sadly.

"Lo siento, Ricardo." He sits on the edge of the bed, allowing Ricardo to lean against him, and cards his fingers through his hair. "Otunga called, we had to discuss the case against Sheamus." He smiles faintly as the young man stiffens against him, a quiet _"Oh"_ coming from him. "I want to do this for you, Ricardo. To assure that nothing like this ever happens again." He taps his finger against Ricardo's jaw and sighs, falling back into that horrid memory of Ricardo's blank eyes peering back at him once more. A faint whisper from the man pulls him from it however, and he looks down to find that he's once more half asleep, his head lolling against his shoulder as much as the neck brace will allow. "Que?"

"Gracias..."

Del Rio sighs, swallowing. "De nada, mi amigo. De nada..."

After the morning's happenings, the rest of the day passes by slowly, Ricardo only waking up a time or two for brief intervals. Del Rio grows so bored that around mid-evening, he finally locates Ricardo's iPad in among his things and begins poking around the internet. He has very little use for Twitter, somehow unsurprised to find that it's Ricardo's mobile web homepage, and guides it away to . He's idly scanning the articles when he spots one that takes his breath away. Gaze skittering over to rest on Ricardo's prone form, he frowns, his dark eyes glinting in the faint light from the device in his hands. "Impossible," he mumbles, shaking his head even as he reads through the words on the screen over and over again.

The article, obviously written by one of the many people at with too much time on their hands, goes on about the chance of Ricardo breaking away from Del Rio to make a name for himself, citing times in the past when associates had broken away from their employers to varying degrees of success. By the time he finishes reading the article, his eyes are dark with something he'd not expected to feel at reading those words- a deep kind of emptiness. Yes, he himself had flippantly said as much about their association coming to an end only a few days ago back on a radio interview, but something had changed since. No matter if it was merely the way of the business, it just feels wrong to even think about such things when Ricardo lays feet away, in deep pain after eating a Brogue Kick for him only 48 hours earlier.

Even so, he's still dwelling on the matter almost an hour later when Ricardo releases a soft, pained sigh, eyes fluttering open once more. He leans over and presses a soft hand to the ring announcer's upper arm, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. When he does, his lips twitch upwards in a small smile. "El Patron."

He opens his mouth, planning on greeting him, asking how he feels, but instead... "There is an article on talking about the possibilities of you leaving my side, making a name for yourself." He blinks, wondering why _that_ slipped out of his mouth _now,_ but he can't exactly take it back, and he's still dwelling on it, so he gazes at the younger man and waits for some kind of reaction.

Smile slipping from his face, he looks merely confused. "Wha- what?"

Del Rio finds himself rethinking his decision to bring this up now, but his skin is still crawling with disturbed curiosity and Ricardo has slept so much lately and will probably continue to, he wants an answer now. He holds the tablet out to the man, tilting it so he too can read it, and watches closely as Ricardo reaches a heavy hand out to the screen, silently mouthing the words with a troubled look in his eye. "Would you want to do something like that?"

There's a long, poignant silence as the ring announcer struggles to read the words on the screen, his eyes still blurry from sleep and the lingering head and neck ache. "I... I... no," he finally mumbles, his fist clenching against the bedding as he remembers that horrible radio interview he'd overheard, if perhaps this is Alberto's way of making his words come true. It all seems so distant now, like it'd happened much more than five days ago, but still so painful. "I don't."

"Why not?" It's as unexpected as his earlier comment to Ricardo, and he grimaces away from it as well. Ricardo also looks confused, almost sad, and Del Rio shakes his head. "I mean... I... am far from easy to work for, so I do not understand."

Ricardo looks scared, as if he's trapped, and Alberto considers backtracking, changing the subject, but the ring announcer finally mumbles, "I just want to... to help you, in matches, or backstage, or... anywhere. I want to know you're happy, El Patron. At least to the best of my ability." Each word pains him, reminds him of the confession he'd made weeks back, how callously Del Rio had responded. In essence, this isn't much different from that, but he can't think of any other way to explain _why_. Why he would stay, why he would take all of Del Rio's mercurial attitude changes without complaint. Money, nice as it is, can only go so far. It had looked fantastic at first, when he was first hired, but now... now it's just much more than that.

Alberto sighs, staring at him. He had been avoiding this, the topic, Ricardo's visible feelings. All of it. The lingering impact of Ricardo's words from weeks back had poked now and again at the back of his mind, ensuring that he'd never forgotten fully that that _had_ happened. He had assumed that it was just heat of the moment, Ricardo not meaning a word of it. But here, now, looking him in the eye, marveling at his sincerity, he begins to doubt that assumption. Even so, he still can't face it. Too much is going on between everything with Sheamus, Ricardo's injuries, and now the court case. He just has too much to focus on at once, he can't go there. Can't risk adding to Ricardo's pain anymore than he already has.

So he lets it go.

On Thursday, after so many tests and results that Ricardo's head is spinning and Alberto looks about as unsettled, they finally hear the news they've been desperate for since late Monday night: Ricardo will be released that evening. He sinks back against the bed in relief and takes a deep breath. This means he'll be able to travel with Alberto to Smackdown, assist him and Otunga with getting the Brogue Kick banned. It is a relief to him- the last thing he wants is to risk Del Rio suffering a similar injury...

But each step is fresh agony, the pain it causes him just to get to his feet and walk carefully to the wheelchair waiting for him bringing tears to his eyes. Alberto's face is tense and tight as he assists him, ignoring one of the nearby orderlies who seem to think _they_ should be the ones where Del Rio is standing now, supporting Ricardo to the chair that will take him out of this hospital and to Alberto's priceless car waiting outside. Alberto rethinks his decision to allow this to occur, the younger man's faint groans and hitches in breath slicing through him like a knife.

As soon as he sits down, his eyes slip closed and he breathes through his nose, trying to regulate the pain stabbing down his spine from his neck. He thinks it's probably a nurse or intern pushing him through the halls so, once he opens his eyes and asks, "El Patron?" he's surprised when the soft response comes from directly behind him, one of Alberto's hands shifting from the chair to rest on his shoulder.

"What is it, Ricardo?"

He takes a breath, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that Alberto refused allowing the nurses to push him to the exit, apparently only entrusting his ring announcer's care to himself. "I... I... gracias for staying with me so much the last few days. I know it must've been tedious, since I mostly slept or was out for tests... but it means a lot that you did so."

"It was the least I could do, after what you've done for me," Alberto tells him simply as they exit the hospital, Ricardo wincing and biting down groans even as Alberto does all he can to keep the wheels from bouncing against the uneven concrete outside. "And now I will ensure that Otunga succeeds in this case against Sheamus, and that you are kept safe from here on out," he tells him, leaning down by the side of the chair while Ricardo catches his breath.

It is late, night slowly bleeding over into the skyline, and Ricardo watches quietly, taking it all in as Alberto eases him into the car, mindful of his neck and head. As soon as he's settled in, Alberto pulls back and shuts the door gently behind him, nodding in thanks to the nurse who had come out for the wheelchair. Ricardo can't turn to look at him due to his neck and the orthopedic pillow he'd been given before his release, the neck brace removed upon the tests' results showing he has bulging discs and a brace could be traded for the much more flexible but equally supportive pillow, but he reaches out blindly anyway, lips parting in some surprise when Alberto actually meets him halfway and squeezes his fingers slightly before resting his hand on his arm, letting him cling to the soft silk of his sleeve. "I'll drive carefully, so you're not jostled too much. This city's streets are miserable." He begins mumbling something about potholes and renovations, the comforting familiarity of it all making Ricardo smile for real for the first time since his injury.

After arriving and easing him back out of the car, Alberto walks with Ricardo to the hotel and up to their room, supporting him the whole way. Each step feeling like fresh torture, the time spent in the elevator is unending, Ricardo's hand fluttering by his neck as he watches the numbers on the panel light up and go dim with each passing floor. "El Patron? Is there anything you need from me when we arrive?" He'd never ask in normal circumstances, just wait quietly for orders, but it's growing harder and harder to keep his eyes open, much less stay on his feet, and he really wants little more than to sit down and relax for a little bit before turning his attention towards traveling to Smackdown the next day.

Del Rio looks at him in surprise before shaking his head mirthlessly. "No, Ricardo, gracias though. What I want you to do is lay down and sleep when we arrive; the flight out to Smackdown is early, and I want you well-rested for it." He hesitates as the elevator comes to a stop on their floor and, ignoring the doors opening behind them, turns to look him in the eye once more. "Are you _sure_ you want to come with me? You don't have to, I can send you to Florida and you can recover there while Sofia fusses over you."

"I want to help you, El Patron," Ricardo says softly. "I need to." Touching his neck support once more, the ring announcer releases a slow breath, tiredly watching his employer. "I can't stand by idly and watch you get injured similarly to how I've been. I would never forgive myself."

His dedication to Alberto is almost painful, after everything he'd been put through on account of the rich man already, the article that Del Rio had poured over on Wednesday reminding him of a fair amount of it all. But there's a stubborn, determined gleam to his eyes underneath the pain he's in and Del Rio knows he can't necessarily argue with him, not like this, so he bites his tongue and helps Ricardo off of the elevator and down the hall to their room. Thankfully with some foresight that he thinks he wouldn't have had any other time before now, he had encouraged Ricardo to wear loose, comfortable clothing upon changing out of the hospital scrubs before being released so he can just kick his shoes off and climb into bed without excess hassle.

Once Ricardo appears comfortable, cocooned by sheets and comforters, Alberto kicks his shoes under the bed and sinks down upon his own bed, content just to watch his ring announcer's breathing even out slowly as sleep overwhelms him, eased by the pain killers he'd been given at the hospital. He is exhausted too but, no matter how gritty his eyes are, he can't bring himself to close them. Every time he does, all he sees is Ricardo in the middle of that ring, peering blankly up at him, his eyes lifeless and dark. How scared he'd been once he _did_ regain consciousness. Sighing heavily, Alberto shifts against his bed and thumbs his eyes. "I promise, Ricardo, I will make this right for you. Sheamus will pay."

Ricardo's not sure how much time has passed before he wakes up, neck throbbing anew, but it's dark and quiet and he thinks perhaps Alberto is asleep too, so he tries to make as little noise as possible when he shifts against the blankets wrapped around him. Unfortunately moving only makes his neck hurt more- which he hadn't thought was _possible-_ and he lets out a soft whimper, freezing as soon as he hears shifting from across the room. "Ricardo?" Alberto asks softly, sounding fully awake and more than a little worried.

"El Patron? I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks lowly. A lamp clicks on and he squints against the unexpected gleam when Del Rio ventures over to him, laying his laptop down as he sits down on the bed next to him.

"No, no. I was already awake, just watching video online of Raw." He adjusts the sheets anxiously around Ricardo, having just finished watching the horrible Brogue Kick and its aftermath, which somehow looks so much worse three days later, and leans closer to him. "How do you feel?"

"Sore," he says faintly, closing his eyes as he reaches up to touch the pillow wrapped around his neck and throat. Before he can say or do anything else, he hears the telltale rattle of pills and looks to find Alberto already holding one of his painkillers out, a bottle of water patiently held in his other. He blinks and takes them from him, releasing a soft breath. "Gracias, El Patron." He relaxes and tries to wait out the pain, let the pills start to do their magic, when he looks closer at the exhausted Mexican aristocrat. "You... said you were watching videos from Raw?"

Alberto hesitates, his eyes flickering up as Ricardo shifts against the pillows, sitting up a little straighter. "Si, I was."

"The attack?" he asks vaguely, unable to meet his employer's gaze. "Were you watching... Sheamus and...?" Alberto nods and Ricardo catches it in his peripheral vision, unsurprised. "I want to watch it as well."

"Wha- no, no, that... I don't think so," Del Rio refuses, not wanting the young man to have to relive that while still on painkillers and barely able to sit up without unimaginable pain. "Ricardo-"

However, Ricardo's gaze is resolute, determined. "Por favor," he says simply. "I want to see it."

No lack of doubt in his eyes, Alberto slowly stands and collects the laptop, bringing it to Ricardo and placing it carefully in his lap. The ring announcer thinks for a moment that the Mexican aristocrat is going to turn around and leave him to watch it on his own, but instead he collects another pillow from his own bed and returns to Ricardo's side, sitting next to him before he taps the touchpad on the laptop to start the video. They sit quietly, watching from start to finish as Ricardo gets thrown out to the ring apron, rushes back in and pushes Alberto to safety, just to take the Brogue Kick directly to the skull instead, and all of the aftermath as trainers and Alberto himself try to awaken the younger man.

Ricardo shudders and looks away, stares at Alberto at he peers fixedly at the screen. His face is pale, eyes dark and grim. "El Patron...?" Ricardo whispers after a few minutes, thinking perhaps it was worse for Alberto to watch it _again_ than it was for Ricardo to relive it, his own memories of the attack few and far in between. Watching it like that, it is almost as though it'd happened to another person, though he can tell by the agony his neck is still in that it was definitely him. Alberto says nothing and his heart sinks further. "Lo siento, El Patron. I shouldn't have made you-"

"Don't apologize," he snaps, taking a breath to calm down. "Never apologize. This was all my fault, I deserve this pain, not you." His eyes flash as he slaps the laptop shut and pushes it onto the bedside table, pressing his fingers to his eyes. He looks now like he'd looked then, as if he didn't understand why, or how, or what exactly was going on, and Ricardo's heart breaks further.

He shakes his head, trying to reach out for his employer but failing as his body protests the movement, his breath stuttering in his chest. "I made my choice, El Patron. I didn't want to see you hurt."

"Why?" he demands gruffly. "Why would you do that? I've done next to nothing to protect you in the last few years, and you so easily take brutal attacks like that for me... I don't..." He knows saying such things is all wrong, he _knows_ the answer, he just can't face it, not now. Not like this. As Ricardo watches him with tired, hurt eyes, he stands and storms away from the bed, carding his fingers through his hair. "We have to get ready, the flight that will take us to Smackdown will be leaving in a couple of hours."

"Si, El Patron," he mumbles, unable to do much but watch as Alberto disappears into the bathroom.

The flight is truly horrible; it's cramped and people stare at Ricardo and his neck pillow, only adding to Alberto's already combustible levels of annoyance, but the ring announcer barely seems to notice as he can't move his head too easily, stuck staring blankly ahead at the seat in front of him for most of the flight. Finally he dozes off again and Alberto breathes a little easier, hoping that the younger man finds some peace from the agony he's been in since Monday night while asleep.


	2. Part 2

Once they arrive at the arena, things begin to move quickly. Otunga is waiting for them, explaining as Del Rio assists Ricardo into the arena that Booker T wants to see them before the show begins, taking Ricardo's other side and guiding them through the hallways towards the General Manager's office. They wait outside of the room as the lawyer knocks before returning to supporting the poor ring announcer, whose energy had waned not even halfway through the arena, his every breath loud and painful to Alberto's ears. For the millionth time, the Mexican aristocrat has second thoughts about allowing him to come, knowing that he should be laying down somewhere, resting, not forcing himself to walk through the long hallways. His determination to see this through for his employer leaves Alberto all the more amazed and sad, that Ricardo would still go to such lengths for him despite everything.

The meeting with Booker is brief, he asks a few random questions about Ricardo's prognosis, listens to Alberto and Otunga's explanations on why they find the Brogue Kick should be banned, nods a few times, tells them he'll think about it, and then urges them out of his office. Del Rio's annoyance only grows as they assist Ricardo back out of the office, his balance off as he almost trips. The two men support him, his employer's hand pressed to his chest as he urges him to take it easy, and Alberto's face softens with sympathy as Ricardo fights to regain his composure, eyes welling up with pained tears yet again. It seems beyond cruel, forcing him to now go out to the ring and address this situation further but he knows that the ring announcer will refuse to be left behind... and besides that, Sheamus is lurking somewhere in the building and Del Rio doesn't _want_ to leave him alone, just in case.

The trip down the ramp seems to take forever, Alberto's every breath sounding heavy and a little jittery to his own ears as he supports Ricardo to the ring, Otunga holding the ropes for the injured man as Alberto directs him inside with soft, encouraging whispers. The agenda here is more of the same, Del Rio nor Otunga thrilled with Booker's lukewarm response to their demands and opting to make this matter public, where the WWE Universe- and, more importantly, the board- can see and hear them. After he finishes speaking, Alberto tries and fails to listen to Otunga's rhetoric as he realizes, heart sinking once more, that Ricardo looks close to tears and he pats his jaw, trying to sooth and distract the younger man from his inner turmoil. No matter how passionately Alberto and Otunga both recommend the brutal kick be banned, the sympathy doesn't lie with them as, when Booker does come out, he asks the crowd's opinion and they cheer to keep the Brogue Kick.

The easily swayed GM goes with what the crowd wishes in the end, and announces that- for now- the Kick will remain unbanned. Alberto seethes as Ricardo looks on, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Come, let's get him out of here," Del Rio snaps at the grim looking lawyer, who once more goes to the ropes as they begin the slow process to assist the injured ring announcer up the ramp and to the back. It seems to take even longer than it had the time prior, Alberto's hand steady against Ricardo's back as he breathes heavily, his eyes downcast.

"El Patron," he whispers when they're in the hallway, heading for Alberto's locker room. "Lo siento."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he sighs, checking to make sure no one's around looking to cause any of them trouble as they continue on slowly.

"I... Yes, I do," Ricardo mumbles, his steps growing less and less coordinated the further they go, both men on either side of him taking more of his weight to keep him moving. "I promise... I, I promise I'll clean the car up. No matter how long it takes, Sheamus won't- won't... take anything else from you."

Del Rio and Otunga share confused glances before Alberto puts a restraining hand on the ring announcer's chest, stopping his forward motion. "Look at me, Ricardo." When he leans over to look at his friend, he curses to find that his eyes are glazed over, his breathing as shaky as his body. "He's delusional," he mumbles, a thrill of horror running down his spine as Ricardo continues to murmur about the car- something that had happened weeks and weeks ago, that Ricardo had already spent exhausting hours cleaning up. "He needs off of his feet, now." Alberto feels even worse as he realizes that his locker room is still too far away, that the ring announcer had already been through too much today. _What was I thinking, allowing him to come here? He's only been out of the hospital twenty four hours! I should've... insisted he go home to Florida. But here I go again, being too selfish to demand he put himself first..._

"Mr. Del Rio," Otunga breaks into his guilt-ridden thoughts. "The trainer's office is nearer than your locker room." When he points, Alberto follows his finger, relieved to find that the door is only a few feet away. "Let's try to get him that far, he can lay and rest for awhile."

"Si," Del Rio mumbles, stroking a hand through the younger man's hair. "Come, mi amigo. You can rest shortly. I promise." He frowns at the heat coming from Ricardo's skin but says nothing, relieved for Otunga's close proximity as they work together to help the man a few more doors down to the office. Not even bothering to knock, he fumbles for the door knob and, twisting it, kicks it the rest of the way open before the trio pushes their way inside.

The trainer's complaints die away as he catches sight of Ricardo's dazed, flushed face, the distant look on his face. "Lay him down here," he orders, resting a hand on the young man's forehead as soon as he's settled on a nearby cot. "Hmph," he mumbles, pulling out a thermometer and holding it in place in his ear until it beeps. He shakes his head and looks up to the two men hovering nearby. "He's running a fever, as I'm sure you guessed."

Alberto frowns. "What do we do to help him? And is that why he was talking about things that had... already happened like they were currently going on?"

The trainer makes a noncommittal noise before moving around the room, collecting what he can. "What was he doing before this all happened?"

Del Rio closes his eyes, knowing what the response is going to be to his admission. "He insisted on coming with us down to the ring."

The trainer freezes, glancing over at him incredulously. "He was just released from the hospital last night, right?" At Alberto's sharp nod, the man sighs. "Well, that's probably part of it. He more than likely over-exerted himself, and his body responded by spiking a fever." He quietly continues to collect a few things before turning back to Ricardo, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the man's confused gaze, how his murmurs about a trashed car go on unceasingly. "To answer your question, we try to keep him cool. I don't want to give him anything that I would ordinarily to break a fever, because of the pain medicine he's already on for his neck." He moves quickly, loosening Ricardo's tie and removing his tux jacket for easier access, laying both articles of clothing aside.

Del Rio hates the sound of it from start to finish, but it makes sense none-the-less, and he closes his eyes. "Fine. How do we keep him cool?" Hearing shifting around, he looks on as the trainer carefully places folded, damp washcloths against Ricardo's forehead and down his side, under his arms before shaking out fresh sheets over his prone body.

"The old-fashioned way," he says, kicking the drawer he'd gotten the cloths from shut with the heel of his shoe. "Damp washclothes, changing them every fifteen minutes or so until his fever breaks. If his temperature gets much worse, I may suggest a lukewarm shower but for now, these should work." He lays the thermometer down on the side table upon checking Ricardo's temperature once more and finding it unchanged. "It's just a waiting game." His attention is diverted, however, by a commotion on the nearby monitor showing what's happening with the show and he looks visibly displeased. "I have to go check on that," he says after a moment, already half out of the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Just keep an eye on him, check the cloths, rewet them if they need to be cooler. He'll be fine."

Alberto barely listens to him, his eyes still locked on his murmuring ring announcer, and he nods vacantly, sitting down on the chair next to the cot. Now that he's closer, he can hear some of the words coming from the man's mouth, low though they are. Still fretting over things that had happened weeks ago, Ricardo's fingers tremble against the crisp white sheets around his chest as he lists everything he'll need to clean the exterior of the priceless vehicle, eyes locked on the ceiling even when Del Rio takes his hand, squeezing it. "Amigo, amigo, don't worry about the car. It's fine." He begins rubbing soft circles in the younger man's knuckles, hoping that he'll relax and maybe get some rest, knowing that that'll help him to break this fever more than deluded, exhausting ramblings about something that happened long ago.

His murmurs are finally starting to fade away, his body giving in to its desperate need for sleep, Alberto's encouraging whispers and touch easing him the rest of the way, when Otunga shifts next to his client. Del Rio tenses, having forgotten he was still there to begin with, and looks up with a warning glower until he realizes who it is. "Mr. Del Rio, I'm going to go talk to Booker T. Do you want to be present for this?"

Alberto peers at his ring announcer, releasing a faint breath. "You can handle Booker on your own," he finally decides. "I'll be here if you need anything."

Otunga nods. "I'll come back later to see how he's doing."

"Si. Gracias." Alberto listens as he leaves the room quietly, quickly checking his watch once the door clicks shut. "Hm." Realizing that more than 15 minutes have passed since the trainer had left, he checks the rags before collecting them and walking over to the sink, soaking them in the water before wringing them out and replacing them around Ricardo's body. "I hope this works, and you feel better soon, mi amigo," he breathes out, wondering just how much the poor man has to go through at one time.

He has no idea what the trainer is up to, staying gone for this long while his ring announcer continues languishing in his fevered sleep, his face tight with discomfort, but he keeps his mouth shut, trying to keep his temper and impatience in check while Ricardo rests. The better part of an hour passes, Alberto keeping a close eye on Ricardo while Smackdown rolls on beyond the trainer's office's door, the Mexican aristocrat barely moving from his chair except for those brief moments when he replaces the towels cooling the poor ring announcer's fever. He catches a glance of the clock after awhile, surprised at how much time has passed, checking the monitor. He hears something about Otunga being placed in a match against Sheamus thanks to Booker T and closes his eyes, leaning over to Ricardo and resting his hand gently on his dark hair. "It's ok, mi amigo. I won't go until I know you're going to be alright. I promise."

He's carding his fingers through the younger man's hair when something clicks with him. Unlike earlier, when just touching him had made it obvious what a mistake tonight had been, the fever already raging within him, this time his touch against Ricardo's scalp brings another realization: Instead of heat pulsing from his skin, his hair is now soaked in sweat and his skin feels cooler. "Hey," he breathes, lips twitching up into a hesitant smile as he reaches over for the thermometer that the trainer had left behind. He mimics the man's earlier actions, carefully pressing it into Ricardo's ear and waiting until it beeps. "98.9," he reads off of it. "Amigo! Your fever's breaking." He grins, relieved to find that his loyal ring announcer is also looking less uncomfortable, the unnatural flush now gone from his face. "I'm so glad."

He's not thinking, really, his fingers are in Ricardo's hair, he's leaning close to him, his face almost hurting with how wide he's smiling, when he impulsively presses a happy kiss to the ring announcer's lips, his free hand raising to rest against Ricardo's jaw as he loses himself in the moment, how _good_ it is to feel something other than tension or fear. It's only when his fumbling fingers press against the unmoving material of the neck pillow that it hits him- Ricardo is injured, still asleep, actually, and Alberto is... He pulls away roughly, eyes wide as he stares down at the injured man, realization smacking into him like a freight train. "What am I doing?!" he hisses, roughly scrubbing a hand against his face before touching his lips, still in shock at what he'd just done. "Ay..."

He's still sitting there, staring on in confusion, when there's a knock on the office door and he looks up, a dazed look on his face. "Mr. Del Rio?" Otunga calls through the door. "May I come in? My match is soon. Do you want to be present?"

"Si, come in." As the lawyer enters the room, Del Rio stands and waits tensely by Ricardo's bed, his mouth held in a tight line while he watches the younger man sleep on. "How did your talk with Booker go?"

"I showed him Ricardo's test results, and explained what the doctors said. He said he was going to consider it, and then placed me in this match against Sheamus. If this doesn't work out, we'll just have to go other routes. I'm sure the board will listen where Booker wouldn't."

"Yes, of course," Alberto says, only half listening as he continues to stare at his ring announcer. His thoughts are still all over the place as he ponders what he'd just done, and how... Shaking his head, he closes his eyes and presses thumbs to his temples, trying not to dwell on _that_. _I know what he said, and I still take advantage of him in such a manner while he's hurt, asleep? It's not... it's not right..._ _Lo siento, Ricardo._

"Mr. Del Rio, are you going to be able to accompany me during my match?" Otunga asks after a few moments of awkward silence, wondering why his client is staring so intensely at the still unconscious ring announcer.

"Si," the Mexican aristocrat finally agrees. "Ricardo's fever has broken. He...should be ok..." He takes a breath and briefly rests a hand on top of the ring announcer's hair, relieved to find that he's still feeling cool, his rest much more comfortable. "I'll be back soon, Ricardo," he whispers before turning sharply and following Otunga out of the room to see this match with Sheamus through. It takes everything in him not to look back as he leaves the room, uncomfortable the further away from the vulnerable ring announcer he goes.

They've only been gone for a few minutes when the ring announcer shifts, his face crunching up in discomfort. Eyes opening slightly, he blinks at the bit of the room he can see while unable to move his neck without spasms of pain. "Wh- where..." He winces and groans. "El Patron..." It's quiet so he's sure he's alone, but... Moving slowly, he lifts a hand and rests his fingers against his lips, eyes gleaming with confusion.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Alberto walks back into the room, watching grimly as the referees help Otunga over to the couch, settling him in. He had avoided the Brogue Kick but had been tangled up in the Cloverleaf for his troubles, which gives Del Rio another vicious looking move to keep an eye on. He sighs and turns to look on Ricardo, just to freeze upon realizing that the younger man's eyes are open, gazing to the right at them. "Amigo!" he gasps, joining him quickly and resting a hand on his upper arm. "How are you feeling? Hm?"

Ricardo winces and licks his lips. "Wha- what happened, El Patron? Why am I in here?"

Alberto's brows knit together as he takes in the utter confusion on his friend's face. "What do you last remember?"

"We..." He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. "We were in Booker T's office, you and... and Otunga were talking about banning the Brogue Kick."

"That's all you remember?" Alberto shakes his head, sighing. "Forgive me, Ricardo. I should have insisted you not come tonight. You needed rest more than you needed to be walking all around the building like this-"

"No," he murmurs. "I'm glad I was here, El Patron. I want to do all I can to help you against Sheamus..." Forcing his eyes open, he stares up at his employer once more. "Did it help? Did Booker ban the Brogue Kick?" This is one thing that he can do for the younger man, Alberto deciding not to go into how long it took Otunga to convince the general manager and nodding with a small smile, his expression gentling when Ricardo looks relieved. "I'm glad, El Patron. At least you'll be safe from that."

"Si, amigo, I will be." He rests a hand on top of Ricardo's head and shakes his head, unable to squash the younger man's hopes by admitting that Sheamus had just began using another move in place of the Brogue Kick. "Gracias." He blinks at the utter surprise on Ricardo's face at getting thanked. "If you feel up to it, we may leave now and go back to the hotel so you can rest before our flight to Canada?" Events are being held up north the next few days, Raw as well, and he plans on leaving in a few hours, keeping Ricardo close since he insists on coming along, and letting the younger man remain at the hotel to rest and recuperate.

"Si," he agrees faintly, breathing heavily as he tries to sit up. He's barely moved when Alberto supports him with a steady hand on his back, helping him up the rest of the way. "Gra-gracias, El Patron," he says, sounding surprised as the Mexican aristocrat eases his legs off of the cot and lets him sit on the edge of the table.

As soon as he's settled, Alberto reaches over and collects his tux jacket, stuffing the bowtie in his slacks pocket. "Do you want to put this on?" he asks, shaking the jacket out. When Ricardo reluctantly nods, he helps him slip his arms into it, the ring announcer immediately beginning to fumble with the buttons. "Stay there a minute, let the trainer check you out once more before we go, por favor."

Ricardo sighs but nods, still hating not being able to look around the room. Instead his eyes are locked on Alberto, who is peering back at him with a small, sad smile. Desperate to take that expression off of his face, the ring announcer swallows. "Do you- do you know what your matches are to be this weekend?"

Del Rio shakes his head. "No, but it's not for you to worry yourself over." Ricardo looks confused and he clarifies, "You need rest. I may allow you to accompany me at Raw, if you're stronger, but for now, I want you to stay at the hotel room and rest during the live events."

His eyes flicker around miserably, wincing. "But- El Patron, I want to be there for you-"

Alberto sighs and reaches out, squeezing his hands. "Listen to me, amigo, you've been here plenty for me the past week. Allow yourself some time to relax, por favor. If I agree for you to come out and you overexert yourself again-"

"What? Overexert?" he still looks confused. "I don't understand."

"You spiked a fever, mi amigo, because of everything. It was too soon, letting you come out to the ring- probably just allowing you to come to this city was too much. I should've insisted you go back to Florida. I'm still tempted-"

"No!" he pleads, eyes wide. "I don't want to go to Florida, El Patron. I want... I want to stay here, make sure if you need me to convince Booker T, I'll be available."

"They could film you from Florida if needed, or internet conference-" Ricardo continues looking desperate to stay so Alberto finally drops it with a tired sigh, squeezing his hands. "Your fingers are freezing," he murmurs, chuffing them.

"They are?" slips from his mouth before he even seems to realize, blinking when Alberto looks up at him in concern. "I- I mean, I can't... tell..."

Del Rio grimaces, shaking his head. The doctor had warned them that with Ricardo's kind of neck injury numbness in his extremities would be possible, but to actually know that it's happening... They're still sitting there, Ricardo staring at him, when the trainer finally finishes with Otunga and moves to check on the ring announcer, Alberto shifting to sit next to him while the exam happens. His temperature is normal when the thermometer beeps this time, and the trainer smiles slightly, moving on to check his neck and ask a few other inane questions. "Looks like things are proceeding normally, considering. Go back to the hotel and get some rest, I'll check back in with you on Monday, alright?"

"Si, gracias," Ricardo murmurs, relieved through his exhaustion as Alberto stands and turns to him, reaching out to take his hands as he awkwardly stands, wavering slightly. When Del Rio hesitates, wondering if perhaps they're trying to move him too soon after all, the younger man swallows, looking uncomfortable. "My legs- they're... they've been a little numb too," he admits. "And... I can't really move to see where I'm going... it's..."

Alberto is considering getting a wheelchair to get Ricardo safely out of the arena, but the look on the younger man's face- desperate and more than a little ashamed- stops him. "Amigo?"

"I just want to go," he whispers. "Por favor. I'll be ok, I trust you to help me out of here safely."

Feeling a little choked suddenly at his unbreakable trust- even after everything he'd done and said towards the man the past few years-, the Mexican aristocrat stares at him for a long moment, judging how wise this might be, before nodding. "Fine, fine. We'll... we'll try it." He cups Ricardo's face, his fingers once more resting against the brace and sighs, their eyes locked as he tries to ignore all of the sensations and emotions he's feeling at just this simple touch, remembering for a moment how it had felt when he'd kissed Ricardo barely an hour ago before he forces himself to return to the here and now. "If there is _anything_ going wrong on the way, you tell me. Alright? I'll need, I'll _want_ to know."

"Si, El Patron." Ricardo is beginning to seem unsettled, uncomfortable at the look on Alberto's face, and he reluctantly forces himself away, moving to stand next to the younger man. One arm snug around Ricardo's shoulders and the other gripping his hand like how he'd assisted him out of Booker's office all the way to the ring earlier, they begin walking slowly past the couch where Otunga is still sitting, Del Rio nodding tensely at the lawyer, who nods back through a grimace of pain. He'd overheard some of what the trainer said, and it seemed with a little ice and rest, the man would be fine, so Alberto's not too worried- his main concern stays with the ring announcer taking steps gingerly by his side as they approach the door.

The trainer's assistant pulls the door open for them, Alberto surprised and relieved as he really hadn't wanted to let go of Ricardo even the few seconds it would've taken him to do so himself. "Gracias," he tells the girl in a rare moment of appreciation as he eases his friend through the doorway, turning to look back at the gorilla position. "The exit is this way," he says quietly, the two men walking carefully past all of the cords and other things scattered around the hallway floor to the door with the bright red sign glowing over it. "Are you doing alright so far?"

"Si, El Patron," Ricardo breathes out, his eyes still locked straight ahead as Del Rio nods, noticing how shaky his voice is becoming.

"We're almost there," he tells him. "Just a little further." Once they reach the door, Alberto reluctantly releases his hand and pulls it open, quickly helping him through it before taking his hand on the other side, grimacing at the chilly night air as it brushes against his skin. "Ricardo?"

"Si, El Patron." He sighs as they continue slowly along the parking lot, Alberto's fancy white car just in view one of the most beautiful things either men have ever seen. Upon arriving at it finally, Del Rio holds onto Ricardo's arm as he leans against the side of the car, breathing in the brisk night air. He looks pale but steady enough on his feet, thankfully, so his employer squeezes his shoulders a couple of times before moving quickly to unlock the passenger side.

"Maybe you would be more comfortable laying in the back seat," Alberto starts to say hesitantly as he returns to Ricardo's side, voice failing as his friend reaches out for his hand, looking grimly determined. "No?"

"The hotel isn't too far away, I'll be alright waiting to lay down until we get to our room." Despite how tired he obviously is, his eyes seem clear and Alberto gives in with a soft sigh, easing him awkwardly into the passenger seat while making sure he doesn't hit his head on the frame of the door or anywhere else.

Upon sitting behind the steering wheel, his employer twists to face him, wanting to make sure he'll be alright until they _do_ arrive at the hotel. "Are you warm enough?"

"Si," Ricardo whispers, reaching fruitlessly over his right shoulder with his left hand, a frustrated look on his face.

"Do you need anything before we go?" Alberto frowns, watching him with some confusion before it registers what the ring announcer is trying and failing at doing, it too painful for him to move enough. "Ay, amigo, here, let me get that for you..." He reaches over the younger man and snags the seatbelt, abruptly freezing when he realizes just how close they are now, Ricardo's breath ghosting across his jaw. He swallows, feeling strangely hot considering how chilly the interior of the car actually is, and pulls away, disrupting the moment while he clicks the belt into place. "Alright?" he asks, hoping that his ring announcer doesn't notice how strained his voice sounds to his own ears, or how tense he's feeling now.

"Si, gracias, El Patron," he murmurs, closing his eyes.

"Good," he says, clasping his own seatbelt while turning back to the steering wheel, relieved for the distraction of the road. "Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere, pick up something to eat back at the hotel..." He glances over at a red light, finding Ricardo once more staring ahead blankly.

"No, El Patron. You... you should get something, if you want, but I... I'm not very hungry," he admits, his fingers twisting in his lap. "Lo siento."

"You don't need to apologize!" he exclaims, equally worried and uncomfortable that the ring announcer feels the need to do so over such a small thing. _I was truly that bad?_ he wonders, turning his focus back to the road ahead as the light turns green. _Probably worse, I just... never noticed..._ Feeling lower than low at this realization, his own appetite disappearing, he opts not to get food at all, determining it's more important to get Ricardo back to the hotel so he can rest and not be stuck in this cramped car any longer than is necessary.

When they finally arrive at the hotel, the rest of the ride having gone by in strained silence, Alberto turns to look at his ring announcer, sighing. "We're here, mi amigo. Are you ready?"

"Si," he whispers, blinking as Del Rio unclasps the seat belt, stopping it from whipping back across Ricardo's body with his free hand, slipping it to the other side of him safely. He listens as his employer gets out of the car and crosses to his side, opening the door and reaching in to help him turn and stand, Ricardo beyond relieved for Alberto's presence as he's still not sure where he's standing or what's in his path. "Gracias, El Patron," he murmurs as they begin the long journey through yet another parking lot towards the building.

"De nada, Ricardo." Alberto squeezes his arm softly as hotel staff opens the front door for them, another moving to press the button to activate the elevator. He absentmindedly nods at the various helpful people scattered around the lobby as he assists Ricardo inside, urging him to step higher when they near the slightly upraised metallic strip that cuts off the carpeted floor from the car that'll take them up to their floor. As soon as the doors close behind them, Del Rio eases him against the wall before turning to press the button for floor 10, quickly returning to Ricardo. His face softens sadly as the ring announcer sniffs, still staring ahead with no lack of misery on his exhausted face. "We'll be at our room shortly, amigo. Just hang on a little longer."

Once the elevator finally dings open, it's another too-long walk that takes them to the third room on the floor, Alberto keeping Ricardo close to him as he unlocks the door with brisk slides of the keycard, pushing it open roughly. "Come, Ricardo. Almost there." He helps him into the room, nearly drowning in relief as he takes in the space that they'd left hours earlier after a too-brief respite to go to the arena, which he utterly regrets now. Ricardo's presence had probably had little to do with Booker ultimately banning the Brogue Kick, the deciding factor laying in Otunga and those test results, which could've easily been delivered to him without making Ricardo endure all that the evening had brought the poor man.

These thoughts rattling unceasingly through Del Rio's mind, he eases Ricardo onto the edge of the bed and smiles sadly at him, ruffling his hair for a moment before kneeling down to pull his shoes off, help him get comfortable enough to hopefully sleep the night away, and feel better in the morning. "El Patron, you don't have to- I can-"

"No, no, Ricardo, allow me," he urges, finishing up and placing them side by side underneath the bed, far enough under it that Ricardo won't trip over them if he gets up in the middle of the night for whatever reason. He's about to reach for the tux jacket, help Ricardo out of that, when the ring announcer grabs his hands, stopping him.

"No, El Patron, you- you don't have to..." he says, their eyes locking as Alberto takes in the weary desperation in his gaze. "I don't... I don't want to be a bother, I can get it."

His heart sinking yet again, Del Rio releases a pained breath, Ricardo's fingers ice cold and stiff against his palms. "Amigo, you're not a bother. How many times have you done similar things for me? You were hurt trying to protect me, and made it worse tonight yet again trying to assist me... At least... let me do this for you." Ricardo sniffs and glances away, Alberto taking it as silent acceptance as he reaches up and gingerly undoes the velcro on his neck pillow so he can get the rest of his tuxedo off. "Careful," he tells Ricardo lowly once the pillow's gone, laying it next to him. "Don't move, just let me..." Easing the black tux jacket off of the younger man's shoulders, he rests it on the bed before beginning to work on the white dress shirt. Thankfully that one is somewhat simple, just undoing a line of buttons and then repeating what he'd done with the jacket, leaving him in the white tank top he'd worn underneath it.

He had missed how exactly Ricardo had gotten _into_ the clothing earlier, the ring announcer somehow convincing Otunga to assist him while Del Rio was out of the room, checking on his vehicle before they prepared to leave, and he wonders if perhaps that had been part of the cause of his agony from the past few hours. As helpful as Otunga had been getting Ricardo to the ring and back out earlier, he doesn't really trust him- or anyone else- with the ring announcer right now, and although he's almost tempted to ask if there'd been some sort of problem, he ultimately bites his tongue. For the Brogue Kick to be banned- for Ricardo to get some kind of justice- they unfortunately need Otunga right now, and he doesn't want to learn something that would raise his blood pressure yet again and cause him to fire the best shot they have at good legal representation without starting from scratch again and having to drag this whole situation on for months more. It wouldn't be fair to the ring announcer. "Stand for a moment," he urges, preparing to help him do so to get the stiff, uncomfortable slacks off of him so he can be fully relaxed while resting.

"No, this- this is enough, El Patron. I can... I'll be ok," he refuses, his hesitance in letting Alberto help him with _anything_ eating more and more at the Mexican aristocrat.

"Ricardo, how many times did you help me with things of this nature while I was recovering from surgery earlier this year? This is no different from that."

The ring announcer only looks more miserable at that. "Si, it- it is, El Patron. I'm supposed to help you, not... not this-"

Del Rio sighs. "I wasn't lying earlier, Ricardo, when I said you were my friend-" He stops when a surprised look passes across Ricardo's face, it clicking with him anew that the younger man hadn't really been with it during that whole time in the ring, and didn't remember what had been said or done until he'd woke up, his fever broken. "We are friends, you're my best friend. This is what friends do, please... let me help you with this." All fight leaves Ricardo again and he murmurs a soft acceptance, breaths hot and heavy against Alberto's shoulder as he helps him stand, supporting him with one hand until the whole tux is stacked up on the end of the bed, Alberto feeling better now too as he eases his ring announcer back against the bedding, trying not to jostle his neck, and shakes out the sheets over him while he sinks back against the pillows, watching him through wet, weary eyes.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks softly, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. "How's the pain?"

Ricardo shivers a little and sniffs. "It- yes, I'm... I'm comfortable. The pain is..." His voice drifts away as he closes his eyes, unsure how to vocalize it.

Thankfully Alberto takes this uncertainty from him when he rests a hand on his wrist, quieting his words. "Wait a moment, I'll be right back." He rests Ricardo's iPad on the bed next to him and smiles plaintively as Ricardo's eyes shoot open and stare at him, the whispered suggestion that Ricardo occupy himself with the device not seeming to register with the younger man, until he gets up and moves out of range of his sight since he can't move his neck to track him around the room. When he returns, he has a bottle of water in one hand and pain killer in the other. "Here," he urges, handing over the medicine and turning to fiddle with something before passing the water to Ricardo, a straw now hanging out of the bottle so he wouldn't strain his neck further while trying to wash the pill down.

Ricardo gapes at it, a bit overwhelmed by the foresight of his employer. "Gracias," he murmurs, quickly downing the medicine. Once done, Alberto eases the bottle from his unsteady hands, resting it on the table nearby in case he should get thirsty overnight. He blinks slowly, sleep slowly overtaking him as warmth suffuses him, his neck pain easing bit by bit. "El Patron?"

"Si?" Alberto asks absently, gently moving his arms under the sheets so hopefully they can retain some warmth as well.

"Lo siento, I wish... I wish I could do more to help you," he says drowsily, barely responding when Alberto pauses mid-movement, his hands pressed against Ricardo's wrists. "I do try..."

He closes his eyes, shaking his head at the ring announcer's disbelief in his own worth, soothing the bedding over his upper body before leaning closer to him. "You do more than enough, mi amigo. Trust me." But no answer comes, Ricardo already fast asleep, and Alberto sighs softly, watching him for a few moments. Even in rest, the younger man looks miserable, his lips downturned and face pale. It hurts to see, Del Rio wondering if Ricardo's ever been truly happy or this had become the status quo for him, thanks to Alberto's own brutal actions and words. "I'm so sorry. So very sorry, mi amigo." He thinks at any other time, he would be beyond pleased because of the Brogue Kick getting banned, out celebrating the victory against his rival, but right here, right now, it feels beyond cheap, meaningless, while he stares down at his suffering friend only able to sleep thanks to pain medicine.

He sinks down on his bed and watches the other man, listening to his soft breathing while stuck in a myriad of conflicted thoughts.

Del Rio barely sleeps that night, too keyed up and focused on everything that had happened, and has yet to. The case, Ricardo's recovery, rehab, not to mention the general day to day of his own career. On top of that, he has to travel to Canada for the weekend houseshows- thankfully this time in a relatively short plane trip- but luckily he'd barely had time to unpack much since arriving, too focused on getting Ricardo through this, so it won't be too difficult to get himself ready.

Even so, he still has a problem. The ring announcer, fast asleep across from him, who refuses to go to Florida, no matter how ill and in pain he is. Alberto closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose, trying not to completely lose it, knowing that now's not the time. He watches the younger man breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling under the sheets, and closes his eyes. _It's Ricardo's choice,_ he reminds himself. _I have put him through too much to second guess his decisions every step of the way... If he wants to come so badly, I suppose the best I can do is make sure he doesn't overdo it. Better than I did yesterday, anyway..._

He checks the clock and sighs slightly, standing. As he kneels next to Ricardo's bed, staring at the side of his best friend's face, he shakes his head and rests a hand on his arm, murmuring in faint Spanish until he begins to stir, groggy and confused, partially from the medicine and partially from the abrupt wake up call. "El Patron?" he whispers.

"Si. Ricardo, we have to prepare for the flight to Canada soon." He waits until recognition crosses what of Ricardo's face he can see in the faint morning light. "Are you wanting to accompany me there as well?"

"Si, si, just... let me get dressed," Ricardo murmurs, already struggling to sit up.

Alberto sighs and presses a hand to his chest, keeping him on the bed. "We've a few things to discuss first, Ricardo. Just relax a moment." When the ring announcer reluctantly listens, Del Rio leans closer. "You need to take it easy, si? I don't want a repeat of yesterday, so if I decide not to allow you to accompany me to the ring, just rest in the locker room, yes?"

Ricardo looks miserable but ultimately concedes. "Si, El Patron. I just... I just want things to return to normal. Be able to announce you, like always..."

Alberto sighs and pats his hand, nodding quietly. "I want that as well, mi amigo. But you making yourself ill will only drag all of this out longer. Neither of us want that."

"Of course not," he whispers.

Smiling sadly at him, Del Rio collects his orthopedic pillow from the bedside table, velcroing it in place for him. "That's alright?"

"Si, gracias," he murmurs, touching his neck gingerly.

"Good. I'll be right back." He taps his arm a time or two before walking into the bathroom, needing a minute due to pure overwhelming regret and guilt over all of this. It'd been his actions the past few years that'd made Ricardo determined to be the best ring announcer possible, even at his own detriment, and now Alberto is seeing the true shame in it all. He shakes his head and quickly splashes his face with water, not wanting to leave the injured man alone more than is necessary. He's just re-entered the room when he pauses, growing suddenly pale. "Ricardo! What are you doing?" he demands in a choked voice, racing across to where the young man is standing, trying to get back into his slacks despite how much pain he's still in.

"I... trying to get dressed," he admits breathlessly, sweat beading on his forehead just from that small bit of motion. "El Patron, you shouldn't have to-"

"Yes, Ricardo," he immediately cuts him off, cupping his face and forcing him to look him in the eye. "I should. It's the least I can do. Por favor, mi amigo. Stop overexerting yourself in an attempt to make it so I can't help you. I _want_ to help you. Si?" His face falls underneath Alberto's warm fingers, adding to the aristocrat's turmoil. "Oh, mi amigo. I know, this is strange to you. But I'm sincere, it's the least I can do. Will you allow me to help you until you're a little stronger?"

Ricardo sniffs. "Si, El Patron. I'll- I'll try."

Alberto smiles, relaxing a little. "Good, mi amigo. Good."

The flight to Canada and the houseshows themselves go better than Del Rio had assumed they would- his head isn't with his matches those nights, and he loses both of them, but Ricardo is well enough to accompany him on both, though he spends all non-announcing times sitting in a chair at ringside, disturbingly reminiscent of the period of time just after he'd returned from Big Show's brutal attack over a year ago. The rest seems to help, his temperature not spiking once the whole weekend, and Alberto sighs once it's over and they're heading for the city that Raw will be held in, relieved that Ricardo had even agreed to rest in the backseat during the drive. He misses the conversations they would have on long drives, but knows that he needs his sleep more than anything else.

The peace and quiet, however, is disrupted by the ringing of Alberto's cell phone. He grunts, reaching out for his hands free device, but it's too late- Ricardo murmurs behind him, stirring, and he grimaces, already not thrilled with whoever's on the other end of this call, daring to contact him at... he glances at the clock. Well past midnight. _Perros,_ he thinks. "Yes?" As he listens to the voice on the other end, he hums slightly. "Very well. We'll be there. Gracias." He hears over the dull static of his phone as Ricardo shifts behind him, gripping his seat to sit up sluggishly, but he doesn't address him right away, placing another call immediately. "Otunga? They've set the deposition for this morning." His hands tighten on the wheel as Ricardo gulps audibly. It would be his first face to face with Sheamus since that fateful night. Del Rio worries as he disconnects the call and throws the device aside, shaking his head gingerly. "It'll be fine, amigo. I'll be right there with you, and Otunga too. Try not to worry."

He sniffs and Alberto closes his eyes, feeling even worse for the younger man. "Si, El Patron," he says wearily.

"Lay down and get some more rest, we'll be there soon." He listens as Ricardo hesitantly complies, his breathing rapid and shaky as he settles back down against the seat cushions. When they arrive at the hotel, Otunga is waiting for them in the parking lot and Alberto can just tell he's not going to like whatever the lawyer has to say, so he doesn't even move to get the younger man out of the car as well, merely helping him to sit up before turning to urge Otunga to say what he has to.

Cluing into the Mexican aristocrat's mood, he immediately delves right into it, not bothering with pleasantries or small talk. "After you called, I received a call from corporate as well. The depo _is_ being held this morning... in Stamford."

Alberto freezes, his hand tightening against the door frame of his car. "Que?" He peers in at Ricardo, whose eyes close at this news. "But- we traveled all the way here for Raw, now we have to travel to Connecticut?! What is those perros' problems?!" His blood boils, only further incensed by the fact that they're only feet away from proper beds, where Ricardo could actually rest a bit more comfortably, not folded up into the backseat of a car or in an airplane seat. "Idiotas!" he continues to rage loudly until the ring announcer reaches out and pats his arm uncertainly, trying to calm him down. It works, he now distracted from his rage as he looks in at the miserable man, anger quickly overwhelmed by guilt and sympathy for his friend.

Before he can say anything, however, Otunga speaks up. "I relayed this to them, Mr. Del Rio. Considering how much we've all already traveled this weekend, and Mr. Rodriguez' lingering injuries, they've agreed to send the private jet to take us to Connecticut and back in time for Raw. It should be here within the hour."

Alberto sighs, slowly allowing his anger to be overwhelmed by new feelings of impressed and relieved. He knows how much fast-talking it must've taken to ensure that the plane would be sent for them at this hour, his respect for Otunga growing. This only multiplies when they actually enter the plane and find it has a bedroom off of the main cabin, Ricardo standing outside of the room uncertainly as he looks around inside. Turning, Alberto frowns and beckons at him. "Come here, amigo. You should get some sleep, I get the feeling it's going to be a long morning."

"But..." He hesitates, joining him reluctantly, and looks at the bed. "You wrestled tonight, El Patron. And last night. You should take the bed. I'll- I'll be ok..."

Alberto sighs, squeezing his shoulders. He's not surprised by the offer, but it wears at him, Ricardo's constant selflessness. Even after everything. "No, amigo, you're the injured one. You take it, Otunga and I need to discuss the deposition anyway."

"Shouldn't... shouldn't I be present for that?" he asks, frowning tiredly.

"No, amigo, you need to rest." He cups Ricardo's jaw and stares down at him. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then let me handle this, I promise... it'll be over soon, mi amigo. Just get some sleep, si? I'll wake you up when it's time to go to the deposition."

Ricardo sighs, relieved to find the bed is as soft as it looks when he sinks down under the sheets, Alberto watching with a small smile before he moves closer and pats his chest, adjusting the sheets around him. "If you need anything, just call, si?"

"Si," he murmurs tiredly. Once the door clicks shut behind his employer, he forces his eyes closed and tries to relax even as a stray tear slips down his face.

Alberto leans against the door a moment before joining Otunga, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Alright, he's asleep so let's keep this quiet. What do we need to do to ensure we succeed quickly and painlessly here?" He ordinarily would be fine dragging out an opponent's agony, reveling in their pain, but this isn't a match, and this isn't hurting an opponent- this is a court case, and it's only adding to Ricardo's physical and mental exhaustion. He won't, can't allow it to drag on forever like some cases are known to do.

The night passes slowly, the plane's constant, smooth motion seeming to assist Ricardo in remaining fast asleep in ways not much else had since his injury, so it's with a fair amount of reluctance that Del Rio approaches his room when day breaks, aware that the deposition is inching ever closer and they have to discuss a few things with the ring announcer, prepare him as best as they can for what's to come. He's still unbalanced and blurry eyed when Alberto assists him out of the bed and into the main cabin, settling him down on a seat across from Otunga. Sitting next to him, Alberto automatically rests a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. He seems sleep-warm but relatively normal, his eyes clear even as he yawns slightly, trying to focus on Otunga's words.

"Here, Amigo," Alberto whispers to him when there's a lull in conversation, smiling slightly as he hands over a mug. Ricardo blinks in surprise as he takes it, a small smile crossing his lips as he realizes there's coffee inside. Even better than that, his fingers aren't numb at this moment and he can _feel_ the warmth suffusing the ceramic and into his skin.

"Gracias, El Patron," he says, smile growing as he sips at the coffee, eyes closing at the familiar, much missed taste. He'd not had the inclination, time or appetite for much in the way of food or drinks since leaving the hospital, to Alberto's worry, so it's a relief to both of them that this little bit of normalcy was welcomed so easily.

All small pleasures disappear, however, when Otunga tells them it's time and they leave the private jet, Alberto's arm steadying and warm across Ricardo's shoulders as they walk towards the car that will take them to the WWE corporate offices for this deposition. The drive is silent and tense, Alberto watching with a pensive frown while his ring announcer frets, his fingers pressed anxiously together the whole ride. When they finally arrive at the large skyscraper, Ricardo swallows audibly, staring up at the building through the car window, and Alberto leans over to see what he sees. "Impressive, hm, amigo?"

"Si," Ricardo whispers in a tone of voice that Del Rio knows all too well- he's overwhelmed and more than a little frightened. Far from impressed or excited to be here, where behind the scenes machinations occur that operate the day to day, non-competition side of their business. Closing his eyes, Alberto rests a hand on Ricardo's shoulder a moment before Otunga comes and opens Ricardo's door, holding a hand out to help the still slightly off-balanced ring announcer. Alberto follows closely, not wanting to let Ricardo out of his sight for too long while he's still so uncomfortable.

"Are you ready, amigo?" he asks softly, resting a hand on Ricardo's chest, patting him gently when he doesn't respond immediately. His lips tighten when Ricardo barely manages a faint positive response, eyes locked on the building that Sheamus is either already lurking around inside of, waiting for him, or will be shortly. "You'll be safe, mi amigo. Trust me. I'll make sure of that."

Otunga gives them a few moments before interjecting, unable to wait any longer or risk their being late, considering how careful they have to be in consideration of Ricardo's injuries. "We have to go now. Follow me, I know where we're supposed to go." The tense silence returns to once more blanket the three men as they continue into the building, Alberto now too distracted to take a good look around the rooms that houses all of WWE's secrets. Instead he keeps a close eye on Ricardo, waiting next to him in the elevator that takes them to the floor Otunga directs it to.

He chances a cursory glance around the receptionist area, making sure that the Irish perro is nowhere to be seen, while directing Ricardo over to the desk where a woman is sitting, pausing in her typing to address them. "How may I help you?"

"We're here for the deposition. I am David Otunga, these are my clients, Ricardo Rodriguez and Alberto Del Rio." Her gaze flickers from man to man and she nods, quickly checking her monitor for information relevant to them.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Otunga. They are waiting for you and Mr. Rodriguez in the conference room." Otunga nods, about to thank her, but-

"Wait, wait, what?" Del Rio demands, putting two and two together at the lack of his name being included. "I'm coming with them." His hand tightens on Ricardo's shoulder as she stares up at him, a little surprised by his conviction.

"Sir, it's been requested that you remain outside during the deposition, only Mr. Rodriguez, Mr. O'Shaughnessy and their lawyers will be allowed inside." Despite the glare he levels at her, she holds her own, only wavering a little bit under his steely gaze.

He looks like he's about to explode in an even more impressive way when Otunga steps closer to him, trying to sooth his tension. "Mr. Del Rio, I apologize, I should've alerted you to this sooner, but there's no getting around it. The case is Mr. Rodriguez against Mr. O'Shaughnessy and it's perfectly acceptable for one side to ask for parties not listed in the suit to remain outside of the proceedings."

This does nothing to ease Alberto's anger, realizing that yet again he'll be unable to protect Ricardo during whatever may happen inside, but he calms slightly when Ricardo rests a hand on his upper arm, staring up at him worriedly. "It's ok, El Patron, I- I'll be ok." He's struggling now to be brave, to make Alberto feel better, and it chokes the Mexican aristocrat to see, after everything, Ricardo is still trying to make things ok for _him._

He shakes his head and reaches forward, pulling his ring announcer close to him, cupping his face for a moment before wrapping his arms around him in a rare, all too short hug. "You take care of him, you understand me?" he snaps at Otunga, voice dripping in warning and anger. Only when the lawyer nods grimly does Del Rio release Ricardo reluctantly, peering down into his eyes. "I'll be right out here waiting, mi amigo."

"I know, El Patron." He reluctantly allows Otunga to guide him into the conference room a moment later and Alberto sinks down into a chair directly across from the door, blatantly ignoring the receptionist as he waits. Watches. Listens. If anything goes wrong in that room, he's not sure what exactly he'll do, but it won't be pretty. For Sheamus _or_ Otunga.

Time seems to be passing ridiculously slowly when there's a massive crash inside, the receptionist jumping out of her seat in response but she's barely taken a step when Del Rio is at the door, pacing back and forth in front of it. He's just about to kick the barrier down, see what happened, when it opens on its own, the court reporter leaving like the room's on fire. A strange man who may be Sheamus' lawyer follows, looking just as- if not more- unsettled, but before Alberto can thoroughly lose it at the prospect of Sheamus alone in the room with his ring announcer and Otunga, said Irish perro leaves the room, looking as calm and confident as ever. Alberto seethes, glaring viciously at him. "What did you do?!"

Merely grinning in response, the champion walks off with a spring to his step and Del Rio is about to force his way into the room when the door opens again and Otunga exits, leading a trembling, horrified Ricardo out. "What happened!?" Del Rio demands again, brushing Otunga away and wrapping his fingers around Ricardo's face, trying to catch his eye. "Amigo? What did he do to you?" He's pale and looks close to tears, only adding to Alberto's worry and anger.

The ring announcer can't seem to find the words and finally Otunga clears his throat. "He brogue kicked the camera. Said he... wanted to display the move for his lawyer." Alberto's blood begins boiling anew and even Otunga can see he's heading down dangerous territory. "No one expected it, the depo ended right away because no one wanted to hang around after that."

Alberto searches Ricardo's face once more before releasing him and turning on Otunga, snarling angrily. "I told you to protect him! _This_ is your idea of keeping him safe?! He's trembling!" He pauses a moment, the words that'd just slipped from his lips registering with him, but he blinks it away and continues to glare at Otunga, waiting for some sort of explanation, perhaps any kind of feasible excuse the Harvard grad could think up that would keep him from completely losing it on him.

Ricardo's breathing is still heavy, his hands shaking at his sides, but his numb mind slowly takes in the anger in Alberto's face, how tense his whole body is, and how Otunga is growing more and more nervous, the receptionist looking like she's two seconds away from calling security. And finally he finds his voice. "He- he did protect me, El Patron," he whispers, trying to put more strength into his voice as he continues. "He- he shielded me with his body. He did all he could."

Alberto turns away from Otunga and takes in the look on his friend's face, the tears now welling in his eyes. His anger fades away slowly as he realizes that lecturing and threatening the lawyer won't get any of them anywhere, and it ultimately isn't helping Ricardo right now. He walks closer and rests his hands on Ricardo's shoulders, rubbing his arms carefully. "Ok, ok, amigo. It's ok now. You're safe. Just breathe." When Ricardo seems calmer, Alberto breathes easier as well. "Are you ready to get out of here? Return to Canada for Raw?"

"Si," he murmurs miserably, reaching up to brush at his eyes.

Alberto sighs and nods, trying to smile comfortingly at him. "Back to the private jet then. You can relax there, amigo." As they return to the elevator, ignoring the relieved look on the receptionist's face, he wonders how Sheamus had gotten here. _Coach, preferably. Though the cargo hold would be too good for that perro..._


	3. Part 3

Raw that evening is simple enough. He has a match against Tyson Kidd, thankfully an opponent who wouldn't get the chance to look twice at Ricardo, and he feels secure in his decision to allow the ring announcer to accompany him to the ring. Even so, he shakes his head quietly when Ricardo asks him half-way down the ramp if he wants him to come _into_ the ring with him, directing him to stand by the commentary table, where he _thinks_ the younger man will be safer... will have a better chance at getting away just in case _something_ does happen before the match even begins. But everything goes fine, Alberto wins and then takes a few moments to talk about his upcoming match against Sheamus before dropping the mic in disgust and joining Ricardo on the outside, remembering the strain that had been on his face when he'd tried to announce Alberto's win with his usual amount of range, how he had grabbed at his throat still encased by the neck pillow. "Are you ok, amigo?"

"Si," he nods. It's not this match that's a problem anyway, the following contest- Otunga's rematch against Sheamus- one that Alberto keeps a close eye on from the back, Ricardo anxious and quiet by his side. Sheamus wins with this Cloverleaf submission, but he's far from done then as he returns to the ring and Brogue Kicks Otunga, easily ignoring the edict put into place by the General Managers and the board of directors. Del Rio's attention, however, isn't on the happenings in the ring, even as both AJ and Booker warn him yet again, adding that if he brogue kicks anyone again during the duration of the ban, he'll be stripped of his title. Ricardo is frozen next to him, eyes wide as he relives his own injuries, the depo from that morning, all of it.

Alberto stares at him for a long moment before pulling him closer, idly stroking his hair. "It's ok, it's ok. He won't touch you, I promise." He takes a breath and shakes his head, wishing that this all would just end for Ricardo's sake. As much as he'd love to be champion, it's all bittersweet now, growing more and more bitter the longer that _look_ remains in his ring announcer's eye. "Come, amigo. Let's get out of here." Considering how shaky Ricardo still seems, he's not sure if sleep will be easy for either of them, but it sounds better than waiting around here, drowning in uncertainty and his ring announcer's emotional and physical pain.

The next few days leading up to Smackdown, the final Smackdown before the PPV, pass quietly once they return to Florida, Alberto deciding they both may feel better in their own beds, and Ricardo having a follow up appointment with a specialist to check how his recovery is progressing. Sofia fusses over both of them, as always, not liking how tired Ricardo looks or worried Alberto appears. As they wait to leave for his appointment, Ricardo sleeps the hours away and Alberto sits and stews, staring out the window at his lawn. He can hear Sofia wandering around the kitchen, quietly preparing supper for them and he hopes her cooking will help sway Ricardo's appetite, which had become sparse again after the deposition and Raw.

After awhile, she joins him and stares out at the soft green grass and bright blue Floridian skies as well, glancing over at him. "Senor?"

He inclines his head slightly and sighs, knowing that if he's going to talk to anyone about his chief worries, it would be her. "Sofia. Do you think I'm making a mistake, putting Ricardo through all of this? Perhaps... I should drop the case, ease back on my vendetta against Sheamus... let Ricardo rest, recover."

She stares at him with a small smile, shaking her head. "I'm not sure he would allow you, Senor. He only wants you to be happy, personally and professionally. I believe he'd feel worse if you delayed your plans."

He nods sharply and closes his eyes, uncertain if he should say what's been on the tip of his tongue for awhile now, but if he's going to confess to anyone, Sofia would be the best to do so to, the housekeeper's loyalty and discretion only rivaled by Ricardo's. "He loves me." The words sound clumsy, awkward, but the woman barely reacts, her dark eyes not leaving him once. "You knew."

"Si."

He breathes in and shakes his head. "I don't know what to do." They stare outside for a bit longer, the only sound those of the insects beyond the window. "What would you do?"

She smiles and pats his arm in a motherly way that only she could manage with the proud Mexican aristocrat. "You are a smart man, Senor. You'll know."

This does little to ease Alberto's inner turmoil, crossing his arms behind his back as he listens to her leave the room, quietly padding to the bedrooms. Probably to check on Ricardo. _Perhaps, but will I know in time?_ He's not sure why he feels like time is slipping away on his sorting all of this out, especially when Ricardo is still recovering and that should have first priority, but something's sticking with him, though he can't quite figure it out. His eyes idly glance towards the clock and he swallows, realizing that it's finally almost time for Ricardo's appointment. Stoically adjusting his dress shirt, he turns and walks towards where Sofia had gone, unsurprised to find the housekeeper gone now, Ricardo sitting up in his bed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he yawns vaguely. "Ricardo?" he murmurs quietly, peering inside.

"Oh," the younger man says. "Si, come in, El Patron." Alberto smiles slightly, joining him. "Is it time for my appointment?"

"About, si. Are you ready?" He knows that Ricardo's just woke up, but he doesn't really mean physically. More mentally, emotionally. He ruffles his hair, heart wrenching again when the younger man looks down, eyes dark and glum. "It'll be ok, Ricardo. I know I was wrong when I said this on Monday, but I _will_ be by your side for this. Come, mi amigo."

"Si, El Patron."

Half an hour later, they're at the office and the specialist, inclined by Alberto Del Rio's influence and money, doesn't keep them waiting, immediately calling them in as soon as his receptionist alerts him to their arrival. He knows that Del Rio refuses to let his ring announcer endure these examinations alone so he greets him cordially and immediately begins, carefully easing Ricardo's neck support off and running his fingers up and down his neck and spine, asking the usual questions about his PT, most of which is being handled by the WWE trainer since they're on the road so much, pain levels, and how he's been feeling. Alberto listens as the ring announcer answers each question quietly, eyes closed as the man moves away from his neck and begins looking his files over. "I want to schedule another MRI, see how things are looking, if anything needs any attention while you're home. The nurse will be in shortly to take you."

Ricardo murmurs his consent and Alberto takes the lull in questions and comments to speak up. "How is he doing, doctor? Do you think... he's making progress in recovery?" He holds his breath as soon as he vocalizes all of this, hoping that all of the traveling and sleepless nights they've both been enduring the past couple of weeks hadn't hindered the process, not sure if he could forgive himself _if_ he had worsened the poor man's condition by his own selfishness, inability to insist that he stay home and rest.

"I'll know for sure when I see the MRI, but yes, I think so." The doctor smiles when both men look relieved at this, eyes falling on the neck pillow. "In fact, I'd suggest if you feel comfortable enough with it, you could take this thing off sometimes, just be very careful."

Ricardo looks thoughtful. "Si, doctor. Gracias."

The MRI confirms what the doctor speculates; Ricardo's injury not worsening, now nothing left to do really other than keeping an eye on things and figuring out the best way to control whatever symptoms he may experience from here on out. Alberto feels less like the worst human in the world, standing in Ricardo's doorway later that night and watching him sleep once more, looking a little more at ease without his neck support on. The doctor recommending he go without it now and again seems to have made the younger man feel better about sleeping without it, to Alberto's relief.

Thursday, Alberto wakes up with many thoughts and emotions cluttering his mind. It's barely daybreak when he slips outside, walking around his grounds and taking it all in, hoping that it will help him sort things out, have the peace and quiet to honestly think of what's been weighing on him for the past few weeks. He's rarely home enough to take the time to just do this, leaving it to Ricardo to keep an eye on everything and everyone on his property, and he'd honestly forgotten some of the things that fill up the area surrounding his home. The small copse of trees around the various garages that contain the cars he couldn't bear to leave in Mexico, and a pond on the opposing side of the house, to name a few. He greets the few staff members he sees working on various things in the yard, surprised to find that most remember him, despite not seeing him in... he can't remember how long, most of them now used to answering to Ricardo. He stops and stares back at the house, shocked upon realizing just how separate he'd become of his own life, so wrapped up in his WWE career and championship failings. The ring announcer had taken care of everything for... he's not sure how long, years perhaps, easing even more burdens from the Mexican aristocrat's shoulders, and he'd barely noticed. Or cared.

Not even worrying about his clothes, he sits down heavily in the grass and just stares at his hands, wondering when he'd become... this... What would've become of him and his life, his everything, if Ricardo _hadn't_ woke up that horrible Monday night... His hands tremble as he hits the ground, shaking his head back and forth desperately. "Lo siento, Ricardo, lo siento. I'm a fool."

Sofia's words and actions suddenly make a lot more sense. He just doesn't know what would be the right course of action, while the ring announcer is recovering, vulnerable. He closes his eyes, wishing he has his housekeeper's faith in his own intelligence...

Friday night is horrible, truly. Alberto tries to let Ricardo speak on Smackdown, thinking perhaps the younger man will want to address what's been going on before the pay per view, but he immediately breaks down, sobbing into the microphone to his family, trying to let them know that he's ok, and will be strong, his indecipherable words fading into Spanish, and _Maldita Sea_ _ **,**_ it hurts to watch. Del Rio awkwardly tries to comfort him, his thoughts and feelings still all over the place, relieved for Otunga's presence as the lawyer seems calmer despite Ricardo's breakdown, smoothly taking the microphone from the younger man before going into his own injuries while Alberto watches Ricardo with a tired look on his face.

After Christian backs up their claims against the Brogue Kick, and then Daniel Bryan comes out to thank them and Booker, Sheamus appears and Alberto tenses, his blood racing through his veins as Ricardo stiffens anxiously. Thankfully Otunga keeps him from entering the ring, his neck pillow getting torn clean from his throat by the Irish perro, causing him to fall hard against the mat in shock as he grabs at his still-tender neck. Del Rio kneels by the downed lawyer, glaring across at Sheamus, and watches out of the corner of his eye as a still unsettled Ricardo lingers nearby, his eyes wide and hand trembling against his own neck support.

Once Otunga is settled, the trainer confirming that no further damage had been done to his neck, Alberto considers hanging around for Daniel Bryan's rematch against Sheamus, but takes one look at Ricardo's face and knows. He can't. It's not fair, it's not right. The younger man looks like he could crack further apart at any moment, and Alberto would be willing to do anything to keep that from happening. "Come, amigo. Let's go to the hotel and rest, si?"

Ricardo sniffs, looking surprised. "Really, El Patron?"

"Really." He wraps an arm around Ricardo's shoulder and guides him out of the building, vowing to get some food into the ring announcer before bed. The time to be lax with Ricardo taking care of himself has passed, he needs to make sure that he'll be healthy and whole from here on, especially while rehabbing his neck. But first, they return to the hotel and Alberto watches as Ricardo gingerly sits on the bed, staring at his phone with a pained look on his face. "Amigo, I'm going to get some food. I'll be back soon, alright?"

"Si," he whispers quietly and Alberto frowns, hesitating at the door as he watches him.

After a long, tense moment, he eventually leaves and heads out to find some place open at this hour that would have something halfway healthy to eat, and is nearby. It feels like he's gone for hours, but by the time he returns to the hotel, barely half an hour has passed, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he approaches their room, a bag of food for the two of them in hand. But all happiness and relief fades away when he opens the door and is greeted by Ricardo's faint murmurs in Spanish, underlined by a fresh wave of tears, and his heart sinks harder than it had when they were in the ring. He can tell by the sound of the younger man's voice that he's been crying for awhile, and is on the phone with his mother, no less, probably continuing what he'd been trying to say in the ring a few hours earlier. Alberto feels even worse for leaving him alone, settling the food down on the nearest table before approaching Ricardo's bed.

His murmurs quickly dying away, Ricardo looks up with tearful, swollen eyes, ashamed and horrified at being caught like this. He starts to stammer out a quick farewell to his mother, when Alberto holds his hand out for the phone. Ricardo sniffs faintly and stares at him for a moment before handing over the device. Alberto smiles comfortingly at him as he listens to the woman talk on, worried. "Senora," he greets her, quickly introducing himself. As she falls silent, in awe at finally getting to talk to her son's rich boss, he sighs and pats Ricardo's tearsoaked face, wanting to get off of the phone quickly to try to sooth the younger man. Thankfully she grows content quickly as he explains to her that the latest appointment with his specialist went well and Alberto himself is doing all he can with the best lawyer WWE has to ensure that Ricardo is kept safe, and receives some level of justice. They exchange a few more pleasantries before Alberto wishes her well and disconnects the call, watching his ring announcer as he continues crying. "Oh, Amigo," he whispers, shaking his head painfully.

"Lo siento, I shouldn't..." Ricardo tries, struggles to calm down, swiping angrily at his face, but Del Rio grips his arms, stopping him as he peers into his flushed face. "El Patron?"

"No, amigo. No apologies. Not for this. You've been through so much, Ricardo. I don't blame you." His next action surprises both of them as he pulls the younger man closer and wraps his arms around him, Ricardo's face buried in his neck. "Let it out, mi amigo. Just let it out. I'm here." Ricardo tries to fight it, his breath hitching violently against Alberto's collar, but finally he can't any longer, and sobs brokenly, everything (physical _and_ emotional) from the past few weeks, months, years just draining from him and drenching Alberto's shirt as he reaches up and bunches the fabric with shaking hands, needing some sort of lifeline as he drowns in the slow, painful release of his own misery. His employer just stands and waits it out, his own eyes prickling as he strokes his fingers through Ricardo's hair. It's the least he can do, as he's sure the majority of those tears were caused by him.

When the younger man finally begins to calm and slowly releases his tight grip on Alberto's shirt, the Mexican aristocrat sighs. "I ruined your shirt," Ricardo whispers plaintively, his soft, ragged breaths against Alberto's skin doing funny things to the older man. "I'm so sorry, I'll- I'll replace it."

"Don't be silly, Ricardo. I can afford a million of them, this is nothing." Alberto carefully eases back from the younger man, brushing at his face to wipe the stray tears away. "Do you feel better now?" Ricardo murmurs something that sounds like confirmation and Alberto nods, resting his hands on his shoulders and massaging his tense muscles. "I brought food, amigo. Do you think... you feel like eating?"

"I'll try," he whispers, not wanting Alberto's efforts to go to waste.

Alberto smiles, feeling about as miserable as the younger man looks but trying not to show it, knowing Ricardo needs him to be strong. Especially now. "Good."

The weekend leading up to the pay per view passes quietly and Alberto takes a deep breath as he stands outside of the arena and peers up at it, Ricardo by his side. This night will make or break everything he's been working towards- his title opportunity, paying Sheamus back for all of the physical turmoil that Ricardo's endured the past month, everything. Turning to look at the younger man, he smiles slightly. Ricardo's mood thankfully seems to have stabilized since Friday night, as draining as it was for both men. "What do you think, mi amigo?"

The ring announcer blinks a few times and looks over at Alberto. "I... _know_ you'll be champion in three hours, El Patron," he says with simple determination, and Alberto has to grin at his never wavering faith in his employer, even after everything.

"Gracias, amigo," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Come, let's go." He hesitates for a moment, tapping the neck support that Alberto had helped Ricardo put on back at the hotel. "Remember, keep this on tonight. I'm not sure what Sheamus may attempt during our match, and I want you safe."

"Of course, El Patron," he murmurs, hand going to the pillow. "I will."

Not wanting to give Sheamus the opportunity to get his hands on Ricardo, he leaves him behind in the locker room to go talk to Otunga half-way through the event, noting that the lawyer looks grim even from a fair distance. "What is it?" he demands, though he somehow already suspects, his stomach tensing at what he knows is about to come.

"The case isn't going to trial, it's been thrown out by the judge."

"What, why?!" Del Rio demands, his eyes narrowing at the lawyer. "What did you do?"

"Everything I could, Mr. Del Rio," he responds. "The judge claimed the evidence was insufficient, but I'm pretty sure the main cause was because Sheamus' lawyer submitted footage of everyone else who'd been Brogue Kicked and hadn't had these kinds of injuries."

"Ricardo has previous neck injuries! Of course this would aggravate those-"

"I understand, Mr. Del Rio. Trust me, I do. But my hands are tied. I could try to appeal this decision, but it would take at least twice as long. It's up to you."

Alberto glares at the floor, grim. "Come, let's tell Ricardo." He hates himself for yet again failing the younger man, but... Not wanting to see the look on the ring announcer's eyes, he lulls behind Otunga, letting him enter the locker room ahead of him, but this quickly becomes unimportant as he hears Otunga loudly lecturing Ricardo, storming into the room to lay into the lawyer for daring to- until he sees Ricardo's neck pillow in his hand, the lawyer waving it angrily at him.

Alberto freezes, feeling somehow betrayed that, despite his insisting Ricardo wear it, he'd taken it off within five minutes of Del Rio leaving him alone. He knows that his anger is only incited by the loss of the court case, but he can't stop it, the words slamming out of his mouth thoughtlessly as he snatches the flimsy protection from the lawyer and thrusts it into Ricardo's shaking hands. "Put that back on, idiota!" he exclaims before storming out of the room, fuming over anything and everything.

His match following all of this is about as bad, Booker coming out before they can even get started just to say... the Brogue Kick had been reinstated. Alberto closes his eyes, knowing immediately that the judge's verdict had been the deciding factor, and he glances towards his ring announcer. If the man had looked miserable before, he looks utterly beside himself now.

At Alberto's beckon, Otunga gets onto the apron, Del Rio and he exchanging words about Booker's revised edict but Alberto spots out of his peripheral vision as Ricardo starts to freak out, quickly moving aside just as Sheamus kicks out, solidly Brogue Kicking Otunga clean off of the apron. Del Rio breathes heavily, relieved that he missed that particular move. As he circles Sheamus, trying to let go of everything else and focus on this match, the only way now to get justice for everything being to beat the Irish perro and take his title, Alberto subtly shakes his head at Ricardo to stay there, where he'll be safe. No matter what the judge and general manager thought, the younger man's agony had been real and Del Rio refuses to let him suffer any longer.

And although he fights his hardest, it's just not enough. Again. Sheamus fights to the rope, forcing Del Rio to break his cross armbar, and one Brogue Kick later and it's over, Alberto staring up into the lights as he comes to with a grimace a few moments later. He can just see Ricardo from this angle, the younger man looking truly despondent. Scraping together whatever remains of his strength, he gingerly rolls out of the ring and lands at Ricardo's feet, not wanting either of them to be in range of whatever else Sheamus might have in mind.

The ring announcer kneels down next to him, trying to sooth him with a hand on his arm, whispering to him, but all Alberto can think is _I failed. In every way possible._ It's so wrong, Ricardo still with the neck support on, trying to help him to stand up with nothing to show from the last few weeks of slow emotional and physical torture, but he hasn't complained once. He stares at his loyal ring announcer and shakes his head, holding his neck with one hand and allowing Ricardo to put his other around his shoulder, trying to ease the man from ringside. "Ricardo," he says over the general buzz of the crowd.

"S-si, El Patron?" he asks quietly, obviously uncomfortable, especially after what had happened in the locker room prior to the match.

He closes his eyes and feels each step landing on the ramp as they slowly move up it, Ricardo's footing hesitant and awkward as he leads the taller man up the steel. "I'm sorry, mi amigo. For everything. I've failed you."

Ricardo makes a soft choking sound, his arm tightening around Alberto. "N- no, El Patron-"

"Yes. I have." Knowing that he deserves to see the look on Ricardo's face, deserves to have the disdain and disgust seared into his brain, he watches his ring announcer as he admits the final failure from all of this. "The court case was dismissed. There will be no trial. Sheamus will go unpunished for all of this."

Ricardo stiffens momentarily but merely inclines his head as best as he can with the neck support still holding him in place, focus remaining on getting Alberto safely to the back. "I see."

"You... that's all you have to say? I fail at defeating Sheamus, in court or here, and 'I see'?"

Ricardo looks up at him and sighs. "I only agreed to the lawsuit to make you happy, El Patron. I would've rather just avoided Sheamus after all of this, but if it would have helped you be safer tonight, win the title that I know you've wanted since you arrived in the WWE, I would've done anything." They fall silent, making it to the back where it's moderately quieter and Ricardo helps Alberto to his nearby locker room, easing him down on a couch before going to get a chilled bottle of water for him, watching him drink it down in one gulp. "I'm sorry."

Alberto's stomach twists at this and he almost spits the water back out in shock, quickly wiping at his mouth as he looks up at his ring announcer. "No, no, amigo. _I'm_ the sorry one! I have forced you into so many meaningless, painful things that have ultimately gone nowhere." He shakes his head, not caring as fresh pain stabs up his neck at the rapid movement. "You have deserved better." Putting the bottle aside, he makes it to his feet and approaches the anxious ring announcer, patting his face a moment before reaching behind him and unclasping the neck pillow, tossing it aside.

Ricardo looks shocked as he pulls away, rubbing at his neck in surprise. "El Patron-"

"I'm sorry for earlier, I had just learned about the case and then finding you with it off despite my requesting you keep it on here- I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have. Please forgive me?"

"Of- of course, El Patron." He watches on in surprise as the older man smiles, heading over to his bag. "Um, El- El Patron, do you want to get checked out by the trainer?" He worries about Alberto's neck, just in case there might be lingering problems. After all, it had taken days for the hospital to figure out what had happened to Ricardo's neck. The thought of Alberto suffering needlessly...

"No, amigo. I'm fine, I just want to get out of here."

"Al- alright," he says quietly, moving to help his sore employer collect their things. They're back at the hotel within the hour, Ricardo settling the bags on the floor as Alberto finds some clothes to sleep in and holes up in the bathroom, preparing for bed. Ricardo sits on the edge of his own bed and waits, still anxious over everything and feeling so small. He'd just wanted to help his employer, and it all had backfired so badly. Add that to how Alberto had taken to refusing his help more and more lately and he finds himself worrying about his future alongside the Mexican aristocrat, the very thought of getting fired now- after everything, after the faux pas he'd committed weeks back had seemingly been forgotten- leaving him lost, shaky, all over again.

He's still dwelling on these woeful thoughts when the bathroom door clicks open, Alberto leaving the room and immediately moving to his bed, sinking under the sheets. "Buenos noches, Ricardo."

"Buenos noches, El Patron," he echoes quietly, frowning as his worries go on unaddressed, the older man immediately rolling over and falling asleep. He doesn't blame him, the match tonight had been painful and disappointing but still...

He says nothing, however, remaining silent as Alberto tosses and turns, his sleep restless and uncomfortable. Ricardo watches and worries about the older man's neck and general well being after yet another loss, thinking perhaps he should've pushed a bit harder about going to the trainer's after all...

He falls asleep still in his dress shirt and slacks, turned towards Alberto with a pensive frown on his pale face.

When Ricardo wakes up the next morning, these thoughts are still fresh on his mind and he sits up with a ragged gasp, immediately cringing as his neck protests the movement. He'd been so careful to not sleep on his side or stomach the past few weeks, risk furthering his neck discomfort, but last night he'd fallen asleep without thinking about it, too stressed about Alberto's own health to care. He's about to work through it and look for his employer when he realizes that his bed is empty- instead, Alberto is sitting across the room, watching him with a worried frown. "Are you alright, amigo?"

He swallows and nods, rubbing his neck gingerly. "S- si, El Patron. Are you?"

"I'm fine." Despite the title loss and the Brogue Kick, he _does_ look fine... Ricardo sighs in relief as he peers at his employer. "We should leave for the arena shortly."

"Of course." Ricardo quietly grabs for his neck pillow and stumbles out of bed, heading for the bathroom to prepare for the day ahead. Alberto stands, however, and stops him. "El Patron?"

Smoothing down his wrinkled shirt, Alberto sighs and examines him. "Are you sure you're alright, mi amigo? Your neck is...?"

"Sore, I must have slept wrong. But I'll be fine to accompany you tonight, El Patron. I promise."

Alberto nods, choosing to believe him and allow him to go. "Very well. Just be careful," he murmurs as the bathroom door shuts behind Ricardo. Neither of them had slept well the night before apparently, Del Rio feeling gritty and frazzled. But he's good at not showing it, going through the motions that Raw through interrupting Cena and the tag match that follows with Punk against Cena and Sheamus. They lose but he barely cares, relieved just to move past the show that's so soon after his losing another opportunity at paying Sheamus back for the past few months and becoming champion all at the same time. That is until he hears rumors that Booker T will be addressing _why_ he unbanned the Brogue Kick this Friday, observing just how uncomfortable Ricardo becomes at the prospect. Neither of them trusts the General Manager, and he doesn't blame the ring announcer for being nervous. He wishes he could do more to help the younger man relax, not be stressed out further for the duration of his recovery, but...

When the idea comes to him later that night, as he waits for sleep to claim him, listening to Ricardo's soft breathing from across the room, it's so simple and so perfect that it almost takes his breath away. He knows how to help Ricardo to relax, if only for a couple of days before they have to leave for Smackdown. He smiles and rolls onto his side, this time taking the opportunity to watch his ring announcer rest until unable to keep his eyes open any longer, his plans cementing in his subconscious as the night passes slowly.

After another long flight back to Florida, they arrive just in time for one of Sofia's meals, Alberto smiling halfheartedly as Ricardo eats slowly, visibly close to falling asleep right there at the table. Once he seems to be finished with the food, Del Rio catches the housekeeper's eye and she slips quietly over, taking the plate away. Ricardo blinks in confusion until he notices Alberto smiling at him. "El Patron?"

"You look exhausted, mi amigo. Go get some sleep, si?"

He hesitates, running a hand across his face sleepily. "You don't require anything from me tonight?"

"No, no. I'll be going to bed shortly myself. It's been a long day. Por favor, go.. Rest. I'll be fine."

Ricardo watches him for a moment, still hesitant, but finally nods. "Si, gracias, El Patron. Buenos Noches."

"Buenos Noches." As he leaves, wishing the same to Sofia, Alberto sits back in his chair and sighs. He _will_ be going to bed sooner rather than later, but he still has some plans to work out regarding the next couple of days. Ricardo comfortable in bed early will help him focus on that without worry about interruption or his plans getting found out. He smiles slightly, too lost in thought to notice the pleased look on Sofia's face as she quietly collects his abandoned plates and returns to the kitchen.

Except that even Mexican aristocrats can't control the weather so, following a decent night's sleep after working for a little over an hour on what he wants to do, Alberto opens his eyes the next morning to find a grey sky greeting him, rain pouring down upon his roof as if openly taunting him and his ideas for the day. He glares in disbelief at the overcast conditions before groaning, getting up with a sigh. "Ay, Florida weather," he grouses.

But his bad temper fails as quickly as it'd come when he makes it to the living room, about to complain loudly to Sofia, stopping short. Ricardo is already standing at the window, looking thoughtfully outside. Alberto blinks slowly, noticing how his hands are twisting behind his back as he takes in the poor weather. "Eh, Ricardo?"

"Oh, El Patron!" the younger man blinks, turning quickly towards his employer. "You're awake early." He takes in the slightly disgruntled look on his face and frowns too, looking outside as realization dawns. "Oh, did you have plans? Has the weather ruined them? Lo siento, El Patron. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Alberto stares at him, still overwhelmed by just how blind he'd been to Ricardo's dedication and devotion to him for so long. He stares out of the window once more, taking in the rain, and smiles slightly. Getting a little wet never hurt anyone... he just hopes this goes well. "Actually, si, Ricardo. There is." His smile grows when the ring announcer looks surprised, which only grows when he speaks again. "Come with me."

"Qu- que? El Patron?"

"Por favor?" Alberto knows the exact moment he gives in, the younger man walking towards him with a curious look on his face. He leads him outside, the two of them waiting under a canopy out of the rain, and watches his face as he takes in the car awaiting them. It's one of his most well-maintained vehicles, classic and simple all at once for those days when he wants to go out but not necessarily show off excessively. Admittedly this doesn't happen often, but sometimes... like today. He wraps an arm around Ricardo's shoulders and squeezes. "Let's go, amigo."

"But... I don't know where we're going," the ring announcer says after a moment, blinking at his employer. "El Patron... did you need errands done? I could handle them alone if you want to stay here and relax. You've had a busy month and not a lot of time at home..."

Alberto shakes his head, equally warmed by his ring announcer's unending determination to assist him and disturbed by the prospect that as little as a month ago, that probably would've been the only thing on his mind. "No, amigo," he says quietly. "It's a surprise. Alright?"

"Oh. Lo siento, of course." He swallows, looking a little uncomfortable at the thought, but says nothing more about what it could possibly be. Alberto's heart hurts at the look on his face, understanding brutally that it's just another sign of how badly he'd broken things between them. He hopes that today will be a good first step towards fixing it.

The rest of the drive goes by quietly, nothing more than the soft pattering of rain on the car roof playing as a soundtrack versus their thoughts. Until, that is, Alberto pulls into a place Ricardo had used to drive by often but never really had the opportunity to go to. "Here we are," he offers as the younger man gapes at the colorful sign marking the entrance.

"Wha- what?" he swallows. "The zoo?" He turns in disbelief to his employer, eyes gleaming in curiosity despite his shock. "What... what's here?"

"Animals, I think." Alberto grins a little, unable to stop himself when he sees the look on Ricardo's face. "What, am I not allowed to want to go to the zoo on my day off?" he teases slightly, smiling as Ricardo immediately begins to backtrack, as if frightened.

"Of- of course not, El Patron, I just- I guess, in the rain, with _me,_ it's... it's just surprising."

Oh. _Oh._ Well, that's a fresh level of pain for the Mexican aristocrat as he catches the disbelief in Ricardo's voice at being included in this, and he wonders how many other times the poor, lonely ring announcer felt left out of things like this. "I see." He sighs, taking in the look of awe on Ricardo's face. "You want to do this? Rain and all?"

Ricardo turns to look at him, looking more hopeful and younger than he has in months. "S-... si, of course, El Patron, if you're sure."

He is. And they do. It's the most carefree Alberto has felt in a very, very long time as they traipse through various exhibits, examining the birds and the aquarium, Del Rio stopping and watching with an affectionate smile on his face as Ricardo takes his time at the large cat exhibit, eyes wide in an attempt to take it all in at once. When the younger man finally pulls himself away with a sheepish smile, Alberto wraps an arm around him and guides him back to the parking lot where they get in the car, letting the soft sound of the rain reaccustom them to life away from the zoo and the constant cries and calls of the animals inside.

But he's far from done, relieved to see that the rain's let up enough that the rest of his plans should be doable. Ricardo looks confused when they don't go back the way they'd come, instead heading further away from Alberto's home. "Um, El Patron, aren't we going back to your house?" he finally asks, frown growing as they near the outskirts of the city where Del Rio's next idea is at.

"Not unless you want to, Ricardo," he offers, finding a place to park- basically the _only_ free spot left- in a group of cars and hoping that no careless person will ding up his vehicle too much. "Ricardo?" He smiles, finding the ring announcer to be speechless. "You want to stay?"

He gapes over at the lit up rides and games forming a large fairground sprawled before them and, finally realizing that a vocal response would be better than his staring on in shocked wonderment, stammers, "Oh. Uh, si, El Patron. I- I do..."

"Great," Alberto grins, clapping his hands together. "Let's go, mi amigo. Before it rains worse and they close down. Maybe we can get a couple of rides in..."

"You- you're going to ride rides?" Ricardo echoes, his shock almost becoming unbearable. "In the rain?"

His face softens, the Mexican aristocrat amused by his surprise. "Si, mi amigo. If you come with."

Ricardo blinks rapidly, still dumbstruck by it all, and finally agrees. "Of course, El Patron."

The rain comes and goes as they wander around taking in as much as they can, opting eventually to pass by the games just in case the rain does worsen to the point that all of the rides get shut down. Nonetheless, Ricardo and Alberto get a couple in, Ricardo grinning slightly at the look on Del Rio's face when he's unable to move in the Graviton, both of them grimacing slightly at the hiphop music on the Music Express, wrapping the trip up with a ride on the Ferris Wheel, Alberto curious to see what the whole fairgrounds look like from high up while the steady rain continues drenching everything. Even with the ride going at its slowest speed, they're still pelted with raindrops every inch of the way and Ricardo shakes his head, sure that Alberto will be annoyed with the whole thing once they finally get down, but his surprises for the day aren't over as instead, there's a huge grin on Alberto's face while they walk towards the exit. "Did you have fun, mi amigo?" he asks halfway to the car, slinging his soaked arm around Ricardo's equally as wet shoulders, relieved that neither of them got dressed up for today.

"Si," the ring announcer says with a small grin, glancing at Alberto out of the corner of his eye. "You're soaked, El Patron!"

"So are you!" They lock eyes, Alberto immediately beginning to laugh, Ricardo joining in a few moments later. "Wait, wait." He unlocks the trunk and digs around inside before unearthing some towels. Turning back to Ricardo, he runs the cloth briskly against the younger man's face and hair, sopping up as much of the lingering rain as he can. Ricardo sputters and holds very still as the Mexican aristocrat finally finishes, grinning down at his ring announcer. "Better?"

"Si," Ricardo says, eyes twinkling despite his feeling like he'd just been through a car wash. It's then that Alberto realizes he too has a towel in hand, but Ricardo's touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he runs the fabric through Del Rio's hair and down his face, leaving him as dry as is possible despite a light drizzle still coating everything around them.

"Are you ready to go home, Ricardo?" Alberto asks softly, reluctant to see the afternoon- and that happy, peaceful look on Ricardo's face- end, but knowing it has to, especially because of the rain and because Sofia will worry if they stay out too much longer.

"Si," he says softly, looking as reluctant as Alberto feels to say goodbye to this brief interlude in the horror show their lives had become. They're almost in the car when Ricardo reaches over, touching his arm. "Eh, El Patron? Muchas gracias for all of this. I- I had a lot of fun."

Alberto grins at him, staring at a lone drip of water teasing down his jaw. He tries to not focus on it, shaking his head quickly. "I did as well, mi amigo. And Ricardo?"

"Si?"

"You went a whole afternoon without the neck support," he points out quietly, watching Ricardo process this with a surprised look on his face. "How did it feel?"

"Normal... I didn't even notice until you mentioned it," he admits lowly. "Like what happened wasn't... it didn't..."

Alberto's smile grows. "You're well on the road to recovery, mi amigo." Physically yes, and Alberto hopes he can make good progress in helping him recover emotionally as well soon. Today was a good start, or at least he hopes so. "Now let's go see what Sofia has made to eat tonight..."

The rest of the evening passes quietly, the two men heading to bed early once more, Alberto feeling lighter than he had in a very long time at how successfully his surprising Ricardo had gone. And he's not done yet, having one more day before they have to turn their attention to Smackdown, and the fun and relaxation of their time in Florida will come to an end. When his eyes open early the next morning, he groans in disbelief at the weather. "Si, of course, _now_ the sun comes out," he grouses softly. Shaking his head at his own luck, he pushes the sheets away and stands, reveling in the sunshine pouring into his bedroom for a moment before leaving the room, stopping short in the hallway upon finding Ricardo's door across from his open, the room itself quiet and empty.

He tilts his head curiously before walking towards the living room, wondering where his ring announcer has gone off to this early in the morning. He's just looked inside when he hears soft shuffling sounds from the kitchen, turning to check. Sure enough, the younger man is standing by the fridge, murmuring softly to himself with a bottle of water in one hand and looking inside for... anything else. Alberto's lips twitch upwards, relieved that he's found him. He clears his throat, feeling only a bit of guilt as Ricardo fumbles and almost drops the bottle in his hurry to see who is standing behind him. "El- El Patron?"

"Si." He enters the room and smiles, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. "What are you doing, mi amigo? Does Sofia know you're raiding the refrigerator before she's even finished preparing breakfast?"

Ricardo flushes. "Oh. Uh, no, no, it's not what it looks like, El Patron. I... I was planning on walking the grounds, make sure everything's in good condition." He nods at the bottle of water. "I just wanted to have something to drink, but if it's yours, I... lo siento, I should've asked first-" He's about to put the water back into the fridge when Del Rio, once more feeling like the lowest human being in the world, joins him and rests a hand on top of his so he can't let go of the drink. "El... Patron?"

"Keep it." He pauses, staring at Ricardo as the younger man blinks in surprise. "In fact, get a second one. If you don't mind, I would like to accompany you." If he'd been surprised before, now he looks almost beside himself with shock.

"Rea- really?" Ricardo's eyes are about as wide as they were yesterday at the zoo, and Alberto smiles, nodding confirmation. "Oh. Um. Certainly, El Patron. Of course I don't mind..." He quickly finds a second bottle of water and hands it over to Alberto, closing the fridge door before following him outside. "I haven't been able to do this the last few times we were in Florida, due to my recovery, and I apologize for that. I've kept in contact with the workers via email and telephone, they insist everything is fine and continuing on smoothly but I like to see first hand, since I know how important the upkeep is to you." He's nervous and it shows as he rambles on a bit more, Alberto finally turning and staring at him, holding a hand out to stop both his forward motion and the words pouring from his mouth.

"Mi amigo, relax. You're fine, my property is fine." He sighs. "I actually took the time to check on things myself last week. Everything is how you left it, my staff has been continuing to follow your orders to a T. So please don't worry, mi amigo. I'm pleased with it all."

"Lo siento," he whispers, ashamed at his nervous tendency to babble and his inability to control himself even though he knows that it annoys Alberto when he gets going nonstop for too long. But when Del Rio's fingers graze his jaw, cupping his face, he looks up in surprise and stares at his employer.

"No apologizing, Ricardo. You've done nothing wrong. Just please understand, you have no reason to be nervous. It's a beautiful day and we're merely taking a walk to talk to my gardener and see how amazing everything is, si? It's going to be perfect. I promise."

"Al- alright," he breathes out, staring into his employer's sincere gaze. As Alberto smiles down at him, his hands lowering from his face, he wraps an arm around Ricardo and they continue walking side by side, Ricardo relaxing under his touch as he takes in just how the sun gleams against the dew-soaked grass. Most of these walks take hours, Ricardo painstakingly checking in with everything and everyone, but the time flies while he's alongside Del Rio, and before he even realizes it, they've checked in on everything and are heading back to the house. "You were right," he murmurs as Alberto stares down at him, expression gentle and warm as he takes in the relief on the ring announcer's face. "It was perfect."

"Of course it was." He hesitates at the door, tempted to say _because_ you _were the one overseeing it all,_ but that's close, almost too close to his admitting what's been on his mind for so long, and he's still not sure if now's the time. If Ricardo's strong enough emotionally or physically for such conversations. He knows it has to happen eventually, the younger man deserving more than constantly living with the memory of telling Del Rio his most sincere feelings just for the older man to stare at him like he's possessed and then walking away so easily, so simply. He wonders what that man, on that day, had been thinking, if anything. But either way, that man is not _him_ any longer, he's changed and now... now he has to put Ricardo first. So he will take his time, not rush things and risk hurting the poor man any further.

Sofia greets them with an impressive spread for breakfast, gently running her fingers through Ricardo's hair as he gapes at all of the plates of pancakes, potato wedges, sausages and fruit scattered around the table, waiting for their attention. "This looks fantastic, Sofia," he breathes in as they sit at the table, Alberto echoing his sentiments to the woman.

Before she can leave the room to let them eat in privacy, Alberto clears his throat. "Sofia, did you say there was a package delivered?"

Her pause is momentary and barely obvious as Ricardo stares from his employer to the housekeeper. "Oh, si, senor, there was. Lo siento, I almost forgot." She walks back to the living room and returns with a nicely sized box, laying it on the chair on the other side of Alberto.

"Gracias," he smiles, inclining his head as she smiles back and goes about her business. Once more alone, Alberto turns to Ricardo. "Amigo, do you have anything planned for this afternoon?"

Ricardo, not expecting the question, swallows down some potato, looking surprised. "Uh. Um. Not really, El Patron. I have some errands to run, but shouldn't take long... why?" He's quieted further when Alberto lifts and slides the box into his lap, waiting and watching expectantly. "What's this?" he murmurs rhetorically, sliding a thumb under the tape and pulling the box's flaps open, staring inside at the items within. "Oh my God," he breathes out at the stack of DVDs inside. "El Patron, these are some of the rarest wrestling DVDs out there... I never could find any of them. How?"

Alberto just smirks. "Let's say I made the people who previously owned these very happy." He grips the top-most DVD and peers at some of the words scattered along the case, curious. "Anyway, I asked if you had plans because I thought maybe we could stay at home this afternoon and watch all of these videos, so I can understand what you see about some of these people." He has no doubt that Ricardo will go for this, beyond happy to spend his rare time off having marathons of shows he likes or watching wrestling, to learn more, experience it all. "What do you say?"

"I- I would love to, El Patron, but I have so much work to catch up on... Yesterday, taking a break then was already much too much." Alberto shakes his head at the answer he had expected, half-smiling as Ricardo peers at him. "What- what is it?"

"If you recall, I'm the one who suggested that break yesterday," he tells him. "And this one today. Ricardo, mi amigo, we've both been through so much. I don't want you to exhaust yourself. Please, just allow yourself to take it easy for once." When Ricardo still hesitates, Alberto brings out the big guns. "For me? Por favor?"

Ricardo takes one look at his hopeful, determined face and caves in. "Si, El Patron. If it'll make you happy." And it does, Alberto's grin growing until Ricardo worries that his face is going to just be deformed into the oddly unusual expression that's been on it more often lately. After breakfast, they head into the living room and Alberto puts in a DVD before joining him on the couch. They're not necessarily close, a few inches between where they're sitting, but Alberto is still fighting everything in him telling him to just admit everything right now. His thoughts are disrupted, however, when Ricardo turns to look at him, a soft smile on his lips. "Gracias, El Patron. I know you've been trying to keep me distracted the past few days. I appreciate it..."

Del Rio smiles back, squeezing Ricardo's arm. _Soon,_ he decides, _but not now._ As they settle in, the loud action of wrestling echoing around in front of them, Alberto ponders this kind of thing happening every time they come home to Florida. It seems like an oddly perfect little dream, describing the two of them perfectly.

Thankfully, that rumor that had Ricardo so nervous on Monday goes nowhere- the only thing Booker really says is that if Del Rio wants another title opportunity, he'll need to earn it. It's not what either of them want to hear, but at least it's not some claim that either of them had tried defrauding WWE or the board with their attempts to get the Brogue Kick banned. Even so, another tag match is made with Del Rio tag teaming with Dolph Ziggler, furthering their annoyance. Ricardo would rather _not_ deal with Vickie right now, and Alberto is tired of random tag matches when he'd still give anything at another attempt of vengeance, payback for everything that's happened. But it's obvious the Smackdown GM has other ideas and he decides reluctantly to go along with it- for now.

But the tag match coming up ceases to matter when he's wandering around the arena, trying to find Ricardo, and is unable to. Fear, an emotion he's growing more and more used to since all of this began weeks back, wells up within him and he shakes his head, not sure where the ring announcer could possibly be. Despite his attention temporarily diverted from the World Title, nothing has really changed- Sheamus is only one of many who hates them and probably wouldn't mind targeting the younger man once more. Alberto stews over this while searching yet again for Ricardo, growing more and more worried the further he goes without catching sight of him.

Last ditch effort, he dashes out of the door with the bright red EXIT sign gleaming overhead and breathes in raggedly as the cooling fall air brushes against his skin, not even touching his wrought nerves. "Ricardo," he mumbles, scraping his fingers through his hair in aggravation as he looks right to left desperately. "Por fa-" His voice dies away as he spots the familiar form of his ring announcer leaning against the building, idly staring out at the twilight while twisting his fingers against the edge of his neck brace, breath stuttering in relief. "Amigo!" he exclaims, rushing to him. "What are you _doing_ out here!?"

Ricardo jerks at the sound of his voice and turns quickly to face him, jaw dropping. "Eh, El Patron, I- I didn't miss your match, did I? Lo siento, I-"

"No, no," Alberto interrupts his anxious speech, gripping his shoulders and staring through the gloom into his eyes. "The match is soon, you've not missed anything." He hesitates, shaking his head in confusion. "Amigo, _why_ are you out here in the dark? Did something happen?" No answer comes and he begins to grow frustrated. "Amigo, I looked all over for you and you were nowhere to be found- I was getting so worried! Why are you out here?"

"You- you were worried about me?" Ricardo murmurs, not comprehending this. Alberto sighs and Ricardo hastens to speak, not wanting to annoy him further. "I just- I needed some air, is all. Vickie Guerrero was-"

"What did she do?" Del Rio asks, a different kind of steel leaching into his voice at this. He grimaces when Ricardo hesitates further, looking down. "Please, amigo, tell me. I just want to help you."

He frets quietly a moment before sighs. "She, um. We were arguing and she... just commented on my still wearing the neck brace and said I was no use to you all, that- that's all."

Once the cruel words register with him, Alberto sees red, well aware of how low Ricardo's self-esteem is anyway, especially after the past couple of months. "Que? That banshee said what?!" He looks like he wants to go wage war against his temporary tag partner and the woman, but Ricardo reaches out gingerly, stops him.

"No, no, El Patron- I don't... this shouldn't disrupt your upcoming match. Please." He closes his eyes. "I know she speaks the truth, I'm no real help to you, just... let's-"

Alberto ignores whatever else he's trying to say, stuck on the second part of his sentence, and grips his face, staring deep into his eyes. "Ricardo! _Never_ think that, do you understand? You have _always_ been helpful to me, more than you probably will ever realize. I know I haven't been as grateful as I should, but it doesn't diminish the truth. I would not be where I am today without you. And if anyone else ever tries to say such things to you, just remember this moment when I tell you this. You, mi amigo, are anything but worthless, and anyone who doesn't see that are idiotas not worth your time." Ricardo's breath hitches, shudders through the hands still clinging to his jaw, and Alberto sighs, mumbling heated insults towards Vickie and Ziggler both. "Come, mi amigo. Let's go see this thing through, hmm? It's one night, and hopefully neither of us will have to deal with either of them again afterwards."

"Alright, El Patron," Ricardo agrees, still overwhelmed with the conviction behind his words as they head into the arena for the match.

They're standing near gorilla, waiting for their cues, when Del Rio turns to him once more. "One more thing, Amigo. About your neck brace..." He sighs when Ricardo looks over at him anxiously. "I know you're much better, and could probably go without it by now, it's just... I feel more comfortable knowing you're wearing it, si? It's one thing when we're at home or just out and about, but here... when things can escalate so suddenly..."

Ricardo's eyes soften, some surprise still lingering there at how much care and consideration Del Rio had put into this answer. "I understand, El Patron. I... I wasn't going to take it off without talking to you first."

Alberto smiles wanly. "Good, mi amigo. Now let's go put this match behind us."

"Si."


	4. Part 4

Despite his and Ziggler losing that match, Del Rio moves past it quickly, hoping that it means that he nor Ricardo will have to endure either his or his manager's obnoxious ways ever again, but all peace is lost quickly that Monday when AJ Lee requests Alberto, Ricardo, and Otunga into her office. Neither had seen much of the lawyer since the loss of the court case and Alberto is equally curious and worried about what the off-balanced General Manager could possibly want with them. He'd learned his lesson with her a long time ago, the fact that she'd expressly asked for Ricardo to be there too eating at him as the three of them walk into her office together.

It's worse than he'd feared as the girl stares at them in her unsettling way before placing them- _all_ of them- in a six man match against Sheamus, Rey Mysterio and Sin Cara. Alberto's throat goes dry as wild thoughts circle around in his mind, Otunga joining him in vocally protesting. "But he's not a trained competitor!"

Alberto notices the subtle sound of movement behind him but before he could turn to check on Ricardo, the ring announcer, without his neck brace, interrupts them, insisting that he'll be fine, he wants to compete alongside them. AJ, not caring either way, restates that the match will go on as planned before leaving.

Still in disbelief that this all has happened so fast, and that Ricardo seems pleased with the prospect, Alberto and Otunga face him, shocked. He continues to look happy, even exclaims "ARRIBA!" as he rushes out of the room to get ready. Alberto has to laugh, despite continuing to be confused and worried, but the younger man's joy is infectious, Del Rio unable to remember the last time he'd seen him _like_ that, if ever. He wonders if it's just an act, Ricardo seeing that AJ wouldn't let them out of this match and trying to be brave for his employer. The thought is both horrible and warming all at once.

Either way, he turns to an equally as stupefied looking Otunga as soon as they're alone, needing to assure that the lawyer will be watching out for Ricardo as well. "Listen to me, Otunga. None of us were expecting this match... and, as much as I would prefer winning it, no matter what, our prime objective has to be to keep Ricardo away from Sheamus. I will not allow him to be injured yet again by that rujo perro. Understand?" When Otunga nods, he feels minisculely better.

So when he and Otunga arrive at the gorilla position, Ricardo stretching and doing random prematch things. Alberto joins him with a half-smile on his face, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Amigo."

Immediately standing straight, Ricardo blinks up at him, looking calmer now that the time is nearly at hand. "Si, El Patron?"

He hesitates, not wanting to hurt the ring announcer's feelings, but needing to ask. "Are you sure about this, Ricardo? I, I mean... you are just barely recovered from a neck injury and this is Sheamus we're talking about. Do you really feel up to facing him right now?"

Ricardo blinks a few times, then sighs, staring at his hands. "I, I'm nervous, si, of course, but... it's an honor to wrestle alongside you, El Patron." He swallows, hands twisting around anxiously as his face reddens under Alberto's searching gaze. "And I-I know that you'll do all you can to keep me safe tonight, that's... that's enough for me."

Still amazed by the man's unwavering blind faith in him despite everything, Alberto shakes his head. "Oh, Ricardo," he whispers, closing his eyes. When he looks again, the ring announcer is staring at him with such a pained, wistful look that it almost kills him. _I can't keep doing this,_ he thinks. _To him, or to myself._ He's just opened his mouth, trying to determine how best to word what he's been feeling for awhile, when Otunga appears behind Ricardo, oblivious to the moment he's interrupting.

"It's time," is all he says, immediately returning to the gorilla.

Alberto could kill him.

The match goes well- for awhile, anyway. Mysterio and Sin Cara are nothing, and Ricardo tags out as needed, the bulk of the match spent with him in the ring. It only all goes badly when Otunga is in there. And Sheamus gets tagged in. Del Rio isn't sure what's wrong with the lawyer, but the idiota spins around and tags in... Ricardo, quickly rolling out of the ring while the frightened man freezes on the turnbuckle, gaping on in horror at who he will now have to face.

Alberto, as stupefied at what has just happened, drops off of the apron and _screams_ at the lawyer, demanding what he was thinking- if he was thinking, ignoring his _one_ command so disrespectfully. He rants and raves until he hears flesh on flesh and spins around, finding Ricardo pinned against the ring ropes, his shirt torn open and Sheamus in the process of clubbing him with his forearms. He tries to help, but Sheamus knocks him away, finishing his repetitive move before tagging Rey in, who hits Ricardo with the 619 while Alberto is still fighting to recollect himself. He does so and grips Rey from the apron, trying to give Ricardo time to recover, but Rey resists and slings him back out of the ring where he lands roughly against the barricade wall, slumping there where he lays, breathless and dizzy, forced to watch and listen as the match concludes with Ricardo losing to Sin Cara.

He sinks back against the barricade wall when he sees the ring announcer flop out of the ring away from the three men celebrating inside, trying to regain the energy to move and check on him but he doesn't get the chance as Ricardo crawls over to him a few moments later and rests a hand on his ankle, time seeming to stop as Alberto opens his eyes wearily and looks at him. "Are you alright?" they ask at the same time, Alberto chuckling breathlessly as Ricardo blinks. "I'm fine," the Mexican aristocrat mumbles. "Are you? Your neck..."

"Oh. Si. I'm fine, it's fine." He shifts, finally able to move enough to sit next to his employer against the barricade wall.

"No thanks to that perro, Otunga," Del Rio says viciously, the two of them exchanging glances before Ricardo looks down uncertainly. He quickly looks back up, however, as there's a commotion in the ring and they're both looking on as Sheamus hits the off-balanced lawyer with another Brogue Kick, Del Rio actually happy to see the move for once. Feeling more steady now, Alberto forces himself back onto his feet, holding a hand out to Ricardo. "Come, mi amigo. Let's get out of here."

"But," he mumbles. "Otunga..."

"...has proven he can take of himself quite well." Beyond over the topic of the lawyer, Alberto stands patiently, a hand extended until Ricardo finally reaches out, their fingers interlacing as he helps him regain his balance as well. "Alright?"

"Si, gracias, El Patron." Alberto smiles at his best friend, squeezing his arm before leading him back up the ramp.

The trainer takes his time with them both, Alberto insisting that Ricardo get examined thoroughly due to his neck, and Ricardo insisting that Alberto gets checked for a head injury due to his awkward landing against the barricade, recollecting Del Rio's past with concussions. Both men are cleared, concussions and neck trauma quickly ruled out to their equal relief. But they're not completely done, as the trainer examines Ricardo's chest and shakes his head, finding it covered in raw welts from Sheamus' attack.

Alberto pales, his anger burning bright once more as he realizes that Otunga's thoughtlessness had caused Ricardo _more_ pain. "Why didn't you say anything, Ricardo?"

The ring announcer winces as the trainer smoothes cool cream across his flesh, covering the worst of the wounds in gauze. "I... I don't know, El Patron, I was just... worried about you and didn't realize..."

Realizing that, as always, he was taking his anger out on Ricardo needlessly, he relaxes and pats the younger man's face. "Lo siento, I'm not mad at you. I'm just _worried_ about you _._ It is Otunga I'm mad at most right now."

"Otunga?" he repeats, shaking his head. "Why?"

Alberto says nothing, his lips thinning as, sure enough, the lawyer himself is dragged into the trainer's office by a couple of well-meaning referees to get checked out after the Brogue Kick. Ricardo gapes as Del Rio pulls away from him and marches up to the barely conscious man, gripping his jaw and ignoring the referees as they try to talk him down, glaring deep into his eyes. "I gave you one order tonight, idiota. You blatantly ignored me, disrespected my wishes and ruined _everything._ " Releasing him roughly, he wipes his hands off on a nearby towel briskly as if having any bit of Otunga on him disgusted him. "I was willing to forgive a fair amount, even you being absolutely no help against Sheamus in and out of court, but this... I cannot. You're fired."

Finished, he holds a hand out towards Ricardo, who anxiously walks over to him and keeps his eyes away from Otunga as his employer wraps an arm around him and leaves the trainer's office as if nothing had happened. Alberto had decided, instead of returning to Florida, they should travel straight on to Buffalo, New York, where Smackdown is to be held that Friday, and have a few days just to relax without worrying about flights and everything else. Now he's relieved for this decision, sure that Ricardo is in as much need of a break from traveling as he is, if not more.

"El Patron, should we stop for coffee before we drive to Buffalo?" the ring announcer asks, his eyes drifting over as they approach a Tim Horton's. "Then, if you wanted, I would be awake enough to drive for awhile, and... keep you company..." He says this hesitantly, as if unsure that Alberto _would_ want either of those things, Del Rio flinching in the darkness.

"Of course, amigo, if you want," he says smoothly as he signals to turn into the parking lot of the shop. As soon as they enter the establishment, he watches as Ricardo's eyes brighten at finding a crane game nearby. His lips twitch up into a fond smile before nudging Ricardo, nodding at the machine when the ring announcer looks over at him. "Go, win something. I'll place our orders."

"Re-really?" Alberto nods and Ricardo brightens. "Gracias, El Patron."

The older man smiles and approaches the counter, listening to the machine's sound track as Ricardo feeds money into it and works the crane, trying to win the stuffed animals stuck within. He's just received their drinks and food when Ricardo returns, an Angry Bird toy in one hand. "Just in time, amigo," he tells him with a small smile, handing over his food and drink after Ricardo stuffs the toy into his pocket so he can juggle it all easier. "Had some luck with that machine, I see."

"Si, some, but I couldn't get the second Angry Bird toy that's in there... it's fine though, I'm happy with this one."

Alberto nods as they settle in at the table, his gaze falling on the machine nonetheless. Midway through the meal, he wipes his hands with a napkin before standing. "I'll be back in a moment, Ricardo." The bathrooms are near the crane game so the ring announcer doesn't question it when his employer heads that way, his back to that part of the building. Alberto holds his breath, examining the machine. _How hard can it be?_ he wonders, putting a couple of dollars in and working the crane as quickly as he can, not wanting Ricardo to start to look for him. The game is harder than it looks, however, and he goes too fast the first couple of tries, failing spectacularly as the crane seems to slip teasingly over the Angry Bird toy just so.

Taking a few deep breaths, Del Rio places more money inside and, determined not to fail Ricardo at _this,_ tries again. On his second try, he succeeds, the toy clutched and dragged over to the chute, where it's unceremoniously dumped inside and lands in Alberto's impatiently waiting hand. "Well, hello there," he mumbles.

Returning to the table, he smiles half-heartedly at Ricardo before returning to his meal. He's just unfolded his napkin, shaking it out, when the Angry Bird toy "flies" out of his fist and lands right in front of Ricardo, as he'd hoped it would. It doesn't register with the ring announcer for a long moment but finally he blinks and looks up at his employer. "Where, where did this come from?"

His smile growing, Del Rio shrugs. "I... thought perhaps your Angry Birds toy would be lonely if we left this one here. Now he has a friend."

"You... won it for me?" Ricardo asks softly, poking the second Angry Birds toy with a careful finger. "El Patron, you didn't have to..."

"Yes, I did, Ricardo," he says quietly, staring at his ring announcer. "More importantly, I _wanted_ to." His heart twisting at the awed look on Ricardo's face, he claps his hands after a moment, knowing they both need a warm bed and hours of sleep more than some emotional reveal right now. "Are you ready to go, mi amigo? Buffalo is still hours away."

"Oh, si, of course." The ride is exhausting, the roads dark and cold, but Ricardo and his own scattered thoughts keep Alberto awake until they're safely at the hotel, both agreeing that the beds inside their room are the most comfortable looking thing either man's seen in awhile.

Ricardo is fussing over their bags, as he always does when they're done with traveling for awhile, when Alberto approaches him and rests a hand on his shoulder, holding something small and white out to him. He looks up, blinking for a moment before it registers with him- they're what remains of his pain pills from when his neck pain was at its worse. "Oh, El Patron, I don't-"

Alberto doesn't allow him to talk his way out of this, or even attempt to. "Ricardo, you're going to be sore from the match tonight. Please, just take these and go get some sleep, si? The bags aren't going anywhere, mi amigo." Their eyes lock and he nods subtly, reaching out for the pills. Fingers grazing, it takes all in Alberto to allow him to slip away once more, not just grip his hand and never let him go again, but he knows they both need rest, so instead he watches as the ring announcer finds some water and downs the pill, immediately dropping down into bed.

"Gracias, El Patron. Buenos Noches," he murmurs, squirming under the sheets and almost immediately falling asleep.

Alberto smiles and wanders around the room, shaking the sheets out over him so they cover him fully. "Buenos Noches," he says quietly, locating Ricardo's cell phone by his iPad on the bedside table. It takes some work to find the settings and figure out how to change them, but finally he locates his alarm clock and shuts it off. "You need the rest," he tells him. "And I'll make sure you get it, mi amigo."

Putting the phone back down and staring at Ricardo, he notes with that old familiar sinking feeling that the ring announcer still doesn't look happy even in sleep, but... He sighs, shaking his head. "I'll fix it, Ricardo. Somehow, I promise. I will."

He feels too jittery to lay down, everything from the past couple of days weighing on him, but he doesn't want to disrupt Ricardo's sleep with the TV. An answer comes, however, when his eyes once more falls upon the iPad laying next to his phone and he tilts his head. Last time, he'd found nothing good, that article only increasing his confusion until Ricardo had convinced him that he had no inclination to do what it had suggested.

He decides that nothing of the sort will happen _now,_ his feelings finally straightened out, and he reaches out for the tablet, tapping the power button. When it lights up, he realizes things he hadn't the last time- like Ricardo's wallpaper is of them, after his Rumble win, he thinks. When they were actually happy and successful, and... He shakes his head, sighing wistfully, and runs his finger along the glass, unlocking it. Immediately the mobile web browser loads and he smiles, unsurprised when Twitter loads again. He'd originally thought the site had been yet another waste of time for losers obsessed with all things social media, but maybe he'd judged it too rashly, as he had many things over the years.

Either way, he allows it to load, expecting Ricardo's timeline to be the page he'd left the mobile browser on the last time he'd used it, but instead it brings up something else- Ricardo's twitter profile page. He freezes and stares over the screen at his ring announcer, odd thoughts filling his mind. An opportunity to read what he'd been saying during this whole mess, try to gauge his mindset. It feels a little like an intrusion, yes, but the tweets are out there for the public to read, so... He grimaces, shaking his head.

In the end, curiosity wins out and he finds himself scrolling through the various things that the ring announcer has said recently. Nothing too personal or risky, obviously being careful so as not to cause the company to give Del Rio any further grief, and the Mexican aristocrat smiles slightly as he scrolls down through all of the little comments that Ricardo makes day by day. But the tone of the tweets change the further back he goes, as he gets closer to the time that the Brogue Kick happened and it hurts to see just how badly off the ring announcer was emotionally. He wonders how much of it was because of him...

But out of everything he notices, it's the short, one to two worded tweets that catch his eye the most, the ones that seem the most morose. He even recognizes one of the dates, the Friday from before the Brogue Kick, when he'd so flippantly talked about his and Ricardo's allegiance ending, like none of it mattered. He swallows and closes his eyes, the guilt from recollecting that interview welling up within him anew. He'd almost forgotten it, so focused on helping Ricardo recover in the aftermath, that it'd last hit him when he'd read the article, long hours spent while Ricardo slept through the haze of painkillers, pondering his adverse reaction to that meaningless article despite saying something so similar only days prior. He sees things so much clearer now.

He shakes his head, turning the iPad off and laying it down on the table once more before looking at Ricardo with a sad smile. "You don't have to wait any longer, Ricardo."

The room is filled with shadows and soft shuffling sounds when Ricardo's eyes hesitantly open, the young man breathing gingerly as his still raw-feeling chest protests every little movement. He's not sure what time it is or where his employer's at, but he's too muddled and sore to even want to know. That is until the bathroom door clicks open and Alberto softly shuffles into the room, stopping when their eyes lock. "Oh, amigo," he whispers. "You're awake."

Ricardo hums faintly, finally accepting that that's his cue to get up, but before he can even sit up, Del Rio's there with a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. "Wha-... El Patron?" He shakes his head, so confused. _I know I didn't hear my alarm clock... what time_ is _it?_

"Just relax, amigo. I want to check your bandages-"

Ricardo blinks a few times, his vision finally clearing enough for him to spot a clock across the room. "It's after 10... 10 AM?!" he chokes out, voice going highpitched. "N- no... I have things to do," he frets, struggling once more to sit up, get moving, but Alberto hasn't removed his hand, and the ring announcer grows frustrated. "El Patron, I planned on getting breakfast and going over your upcoming media schedules, I-"

"That can wait," he says quietly. "You needed your sleep, especially after last night, so I shut your alarm clock off." When Ricardo's jaw clicks shut, his protests dying away, Alberto smiles. "As I was saying, I want to check your bandages. Si?"

Ricardo flushes slightly upon realizing that in his other hand, he's holding onto fresh gauze and a tube of the cream that the trainer had given them the night before just for that purpose. "Oh, uh, El Patron, I can do it, it's-"

" _Ricardo,_ " he says softly, peering into the younger man's eyes. "Por favor, permítame..." The resistance slowly eases out of the ring announcer as he sinks back against the pillows, watching Alberto with a pained expression while the Mexican aristocrat eases his shirt off to look his injuries over. "Si," he whispers somberly. "These will need changed, mi amigo." He peels the old bandages off carefully, desperate not to add to Ricardo's pain anymore than necessary, trying to remember just how the trainer had done all of this the night before. "As soon as we finish here," he says quietly, trying to distract them both, "we can go get some brunch, if you would like, amigo. Or I can get something and bring it back, or order in... whichever you feel most comfortable with."

Ricardo blinks in surprise at this, shaking his head. "Whichever you would prefer, El Patron, is fine with me..."

Alberto smiles wanly at the expected, sad response, and finishes smoothing new cream over the wounds along his flesh, immediately covering them with fresh gauze. Taping it down goes easier than he expects and then he looks up at his ring announcer. "There you go, amigo. All done. It wasn't too bad, was it?"

"No," Ricardo whispers. "It wasn't bad at all." There's such a distant, wistful look in his eye that it hurts Alberto to stare at him too long. "May I get up now? I... I need to change clothes, especially if we're going to get food soon."

"Of course, amigo." Alberto watches with a small, pained smile as his ring announcer stands and digs through his bag, finding a new shirt to put on. His resolve from the night before not wavering even a little, he clears his throat. _It's time. No more waiting..._ "Eh, Ricardo, do you mind doing something for me?"

Looking up in surprise, the ring announcer blinks. "Of course, El Patron. What do you need?"

"Do you remember what you said to me that night... after Smackdown?" He knows without looking that of course Ricardo remembers, the words spoken that night hanging over them both in various ways like a smothering blanket, affecting their actions and reactions. He glances up at the ring announcer's face, taking in just how broken he suddenly looks, so uncertain and pained, and it takes all that Del Rio has inside of him to not rush forward and comfort him right here and now. _No,_ he thinks. _I can't do that just yet. It may seem cruel, making him relive this, but... I want to fix things starting with that night..._

"Si," he whispers miserably.

Nodding sharply, Alberto takes a breath and turns his back to him, adjusting his shirt's sleeves. "Would you mind... repeating it?" There's a stuttery gasp behind him as Ricardo absorbs his words, and the Mexican aristocrat closes his eyes, knowing that he has a long road ahead of him to make all of this right, ease at least some of the emotional and physical agony he's put the poor ring announcer through the past few months, much less the turmoil of the last couple of years. "Por favor?"

Ricardo remains frozen behind him, eyes wide and wet as he stares at the back of his employer's head, remembering just how horribly that night weeks ago had gone. Curling his toes against the hotel carpet, he can't forget that moment and how it'd unfolded- barefooted and feeling disgraced, horrified and shaky just like right now... Why Alberto would request this of him, he can't figure, unless the loss of the match the night before had been the last straw after all- if his foolish admission on top of the injuries on top of the many title opportunities lost had finally just annoyed Del Rio to the point of finally cutting the younger man loose.

Alberto's lips thin as more time passes, the silence in the room deafening. _Perhaps I have finally just asked too much of him,_ he thinks. _Perhaps I have waited too long. Perhaps this is what I deserve. Considering how I've treated him, I wouldn't blame him if his feelings have... faded._ He takes a breath, shaking his head slightly. _If, after all of this, I end up the one with unrequited feelings..._ He's about to turn around, stop forcing Ricardo to be stuck in the moment that he so thoroughly messed up to begin with, and begin working at repairing their friendship before even considering how to earn back the affection he'd so cruelly thrown back into the ring announcer's face, when...

"I- I'm in love with you," the words come out of nowhere, broken and shaky, but there. Sure and true.

Alberto is so sure that he's hearing things that he inadvertently repeats his very sentence from that night, word for unfortunate word. "What did you say?"

"I'm in love with you." Instead of better, the words come out sounding worse, and Alberto's heart breaks further when he turns around and finds his poor ring announcer shaking and tense, as if waiting for a similar response to the last time, or something even worse. The tears pooling in Ricardo's eyes slowly slip down his face as Del Rio, unable to stand by and watch him suffer any further, walks towards him. "Don't fire me, por favor, El Patron," he chokes out, certain that that's the way this will resolve- either by a beatdown or his termination.

Alberto can't find any words as he stands before Ricardo and stares down at him, slowly reaching out to touch his face, carefully cupping his jaw. "Oh, Ricardo." Leaning closer, he tries to catch his eye and fails as the ring announcer looks anywhere but at him. The wet trail of tears dripping down his face and washing across Del Rio's fingers now, he finds that for the first time ever possibly, he utterly hates himself for everything he'd done to the man before him. Desperate to take that look off of his face, the Mexican aristocrat presses forward and kisses him gently, remembering... The trainer's office, the moment in the car, all of it, leading to this moment. _I have been so foolish,_ he thinks grimly, stroking his face until Ricardo gulps, frozen against him as he holds on. Alberto isn't surprised at the unresponsive ring announcer, knowing that he's probably confused and still hurting. He pulls away and stares down at the dazed, uncomprehending expression on Ricardo's face. He wants to see his eyes for this, aware that it's so wrong- so backwards- so... less than what the ring announcer deserves, but he has to say it now, needs it to be known. "I'm in love with you too."

The change is horrible and immediate as the already off-balanced younger man shakes his head violently, tearing himself away from Del Rio and stumbling backwards, almost tripping over the bed but catching himself and feeling his way past it, moving quickly until he hits the wall and freezes, having nowhere else to go as Alberto watches him, his eyes dark and sad. "No," he murmurs. "You... you can't. How can you? It... it's only been a few weeks since I said that to you, and you couldn't get away from me fast enough. No one's feelings change that quickly." He's cracking even further, tears trailing faster across his trembling lips, and the older man honestly can't take it anymore. He approaches him, almost hesitant to make it worse but incapable of watching his breakdown from a distance any further without at least trying to sooth him.

"I was blind," Alberto whispers, slowly walking up to him, only keeping enough distance between them that Ricardo can slip past him if he wants, but close enough that he can feel Ricardo's breath on his face. "My eyes were opened when you took the Brogue Kick for me. I know it shouldn't have taken that to wake me up, I should've seen what was before me the whole time, but... I've been on a journey since that horrible night, when, for what felt like hours, you wouldn't open your eyes... wouldn't move. I was afraid that... something I couldn't fix or control had happened, but then you opened your eyes and reached out for me and things began to click slowly into place. Last night, when Otunga tagged you in against Sheamus despite my warning him over and over again I didn't want you anywhere near that Irish perro, I was drowning in fear and anger. After the match was over and you were mostly alright, I knew... I couldn't wait any longer. I had to tell you. It has perhaps taken me too long, but I... I want to make this right, Ricardo. I want... I want to correct the grievous error I made that night." Ricardo is still silent, his eyes far away, and Alberto's heart sinks again. "I know I have failed you in so many different ways. Letting you get hurt so many different times, hurting you myself in so many ways, the court case falling through, everything else. I don't blame you if it's just... too little, too late." He's about to move aside, allow the ring announcer to do as he wishes, when he realizes that Ricardo's fingers are tangled in the folds of his shirt, holding him in place.

He looks up and finally their eyes lock. Underneath the pain and tears, there's a soft gleam of understanding that's just so _Ricardo_ that it takes Alberto's breath away and he couldn't move aside even if he wanted to. "Ricardo," he breathes out, so many long-withheld emotions in that one word that it floors both of them, Del Rio finally bridging the gap between them and kissing the younger man more insistently this time, his fingers tangling in his dark hair. This time he kisses back, hesitant at first, almost fearful, but the longer Alberto lingers, the more the ring announcer seems to relax into it, giving in to what he'd been hoping for for so long.

When he finally pulls away, needing to look Ricardo in the eye again, Alberto sighs, gingerly brushing the few remaining tears off of his face. Ricardo blinks up at him a time or two before releasing a shaky breath, touching his lips in something close to disbelief. "You... fired Otunga because of me?"

"Si, of course I did. Despite my repeated warnings, he selfishly put you in harm's way to protect himself. He deserved much worse than the Brogue he received." Alberto smiles mirthlessly. "I suppose the loss of my billable hours will have to do for now." Despite still looking vulnerable and shaky, Ricardo chuckles faintly and it warms Alberto slightly to see his lips upturned into a true, however small, smile for the first time in he's not sure how long. Leaning his forehead against the ring announcer's so they're eye to eye, he sighs softly and once more cups his face. "I love you, Ricardo."

"I love you too, El Patron," Ricardo whispers back, the words now sounding clearer, if not completely confident. Alberto doesn't mind though, he knows he has a lot to do to repair everything he's done, but he hopes that finally admitting his feelings to the poor man will help ease some of his suffering, make the journey a bit easier for them both.

He smiles affectionately and, cupping Ricardo's face once more, kisses his lips before pulling him closer until his head is resting against Alberto's shoulder, easing his fraught nerves with quiet whispers and soft touches. He knows how much work he'll have to put into making things right for Ricardo, earning his trust in what they have, but even so, he's never felt happier than this moment. As he glances down at the ring announcer's face, his eyes closed as he leans against his employer with a small smile on his lips, he vows to himself that he'll do everything in his power to ensure that Ricardo will always feel like that as well.


End file.
